No greater Love
by Polgana
Summary: Gary stumbles across an ad for a most unusual resort and decides that he and Marissa need a break. They both get more than they had bargained for.
1. Welcome To Fantasy Island

No Greater Love

By Polgana

_Tracy Miller issued a challenge, then Mike Paterno suggested this theme and Vicky Jo elaborated on it.  Their ideas struck a chord in me that simply would not let go.  This takes place shortly after 'Four And a Half Days,' when Marissa only **thinks** she may be pregnant.  Basically, Gary sees a chance to make a dream come true for his closest friend, but the price may be more than **she** is willing to pay.  Come join Gary and Marissa on a tropical paradise known as:_

_Fantasy Island_

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The tall, slender man read the tiny blurb on page fourteen for the umpteenth time since it had appeared so mysteriously that morning.  Originally, that same space in his 'Early Edition' of the Chicago Sun-Times had held an article describing a minor collision between a delivery truck and an escaped Tibetan Yak.  Once the hairy bovine had been safely returned to the local zoo, Gary Hobson had checked to see what tale of woe had taken its place, as had become his routine.

What he found was a most unusual ad.

_'Have you ever had a dream fulfilled?'_ it read._  'Do you believe that wishes **can** come true? Have you faith so strong that the lame can walk and the blind can see?  Then come to a land of mystery and enchantment, where all things are possible, even the **im**possible.  Come to Fantasy Island, where all your dreams can come true.'_

At first, Gary had dismissed it as an elaborate come-on, a way to lure in the gullible and unwary.  Still, his eyes were continuously drawn to the same four words: _the blind can see._

Once, for a very short time that had seemingly lasted an eternity, Gary had stepped into a world of darkness, where he found himself dependent on every sense but the one he no longer had; his sight.  It was a world that his partner and closest friend lived in every day.  Marissa Clark had lost her sight at a very early age due to meningitis.  In spite of that, she was one of the most capable, grounded people that Gary had ever known.  She also had an unshakable faith in God and miracles.  Even though she had never seen The Paper with her own eyes, she had believed Gary when he told her about it and became the voice of his conscience, spurring him on to do whatever it took to avert disaster, even minor ones involving exotic bovines and delivery vans.

Mud-green eyes peered from beneath raven dark bangs as he gazed out the window of the El at the rapidly passing landscape, seeing only the face of his dearest friend.  The blind can see.  Just the idea set his mind to reeling.  Could they really restore her sight, he wondered.  If so, for how long?  Nothing was mentioned about any guarantees.    

He didn't _have_ to tell her what was on his mind.  That would be so mean to get her hopes up like that.  But, would the effects be permanent, or would they extend only to the confines of the island?  If that were the case, how cruel would it be to offer her this gift on just a temporary basis?  No, he had to let her decide.  Anything less would be a betrayal so vile that, even if _she_ forgave him, he could never forgive himself.

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"Well?" Gary asked hopefully.  "What do you think?  D'ya wanna give it a shot?"

Marissa sat back in her chair, her lovely, exotic features composed in a mask of confusion.  What would prompt Gary to even make such an offer?  Of course, she wanted to see again!  Who wouldn't?  But to think that it could be accomplished on some little known tropical island was sheer foolishness.  

"Look," Gary sighed, reading her expression, "I know it sounds crazy, that they can maybe wave a magic wand and let you see again if only for a day, but is it any crazier than what we do with The Paper?  For all we know, that might be where it comes from!  Think about it!  'Where _all_ things are possible.'  C'mon Marissa, isn't it at least worth a shot?"

"It just sounds like wishful thinking, Gary," Marissa sighed.  "Just another trap for the desperate and gullible.  I'll bet the price is astronomical."

"No more than it would be for any other luxury resort," he lied.  Gary felt just a twinge of regret for his deception, but he felt that Marissa might be wavering.  Truthfully, it was almost twice the going rate for a week in that Atlantis resort in the Caribbean.  Still, if it meant even one day of sight for his friend, he felt it a bargain that he couldn't afford to pass up.  "It's just for one weekend," he persisted.  "A-and what have we got to lose?  If nothing else, we have a nice little vacation on a tropical island.  Mom and Dad can take care of The Paper for that long.  And they'll have Peter Caine and his dad for back up.  Emmett's gonna be away at a legal seminar for two weeks, and you'd be stuck in that apartment all alone.  Think of it, three days, and two nights of warm sun and sandy beaches, balmy breezes blowing sand in our food, drinking fruit-juice and rum concoctions with those little umbrellas poking us in the eye . . ."

"Mosquitoes," Marissa added with a grin.  "Second degree sunburns, heat rash, killer hangovers . . ."

"And let's not forget the occasional shark in the lagoon and jellyfish stings," Gary chuckled, sensing victory.  "Now, how can you pass up a deal like that?"

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The warm breeze was redolent with the pleasant aroma of plumeria, bougainvillea, and passionflower.  The joyful laughter of children rang out clear and pure as they chased each other among the palm trees and tropical foliage that covered most of the landscape.  Beautiful young women in bikinis and sarongs, strapping young men in lava-lavas all raced for the clearing as the solitary bell clamored for their attention.  High in the bell tower, a diminutive man dressed all in white pulled at the bell cord one last time before leaning out over the rail to address his audience.  Pointing needlessly into the air, his thin, gravelly voice joyfully announced to one and all:

"The Plane!  The Plane!"

As the growing crowd fled for the boat dock, Tattoo descended from his lofty perch as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him.  Moments later, he skidded to a stop next to a tall slender man whose regal bearing left no doubt as to who he was.  The dark-haired man looked down at his miniature companion and smiled indulgently.  They wore identical white suits and dark ties, although the little man wore his tie in a bowknot.  Tattoo's hair was still thick and dark, marking his relative youth while Mr. Roarke's curly hair was now streaked with gray and his face lined with years of experience, not all of it pleasant.

"Smiles, everyone," the elegantly dressed man instructed his staff.  "Smiles!  Make our guests feel _welcome!"_

Turning his attention to the docking seaplane, Mr. Roarke spoke quietly to his younger friend.  

"We are being granted a rare honor, Tattoo," he murmured.  "A Guardian is gracing our fair island."

"A Guardian?" Tattoo responded in his thick European accent.  "Guardian of what, Boss?" he asked in puzzlement.

"Of many things," was Mr. Roarke's cryptic reply.  "He is fairly new to the task and still has many questions of his own that may never be answered.  They are a rare breed, for few possess the courage and the will to tamper with Fate as these must.  Yet, even amongst such singular individuals, one may stand out."  Accepting a glass from one of the young ladies, he used it to indicate the dark-haired young man assisting a lovely African-American woman from the plane.  "Take our young Mr. Hobson, for instance.  He has already sacrificed much for the sake of others, doing whatever he must to make their lives safer, and better.  Often at the risk of his own.  Yet, his fantasy is not for himself, but for his companion, Mrs. Marissa Brown."

Tattoo frowned at this revelation.  "Mrs.?" he lisped, dragging out the s.  "He is consorting with a married woman?"  This did not set well with the heroic image that his boss had just painted.

Mr. Roarke shot his friend an admonishing frown.  "You are too quick to judge, Tattoo.  Gary Hobson and Mrs. Brown have been very close friends for several years now.  It is a very deep, Platonic love that is hard to describe to an outsider.  No, although he has often been accused of being self-absorbed and inattentive to others, Mr. Hobson is quite possibly one of the most compassionate and caring men you will ever have the honor to meet.  He would willingly lay down his life for his friend.  It should then come as no surprise that he has asked to be allowed such a little request.  I just pray that the price does not exceed the gift," he added in an ominous tone.

Quickly pasting a dazzling smile on his handsome features, Mr. Roarke turned to face his guests, raising his glass in his trademark greeting.

"I am Mr. Roarke, your host.  Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

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Carefully guiding his friend into the unfamiliar room, Gary helped Marissa into one of the comfortable wingback chairs that graced Mr. Roarke's sitting room.  Fighting his instinct to hover protectively over his sightless companion, Gary awkwardly settled into an identical chair facing their host.

"You, um, you're sure this isn't gonna hurt her?" he asked nervously.  "I-I mean, when we talked on the phone last week, you promised that this . . . process would be painless."

Mr. Roarke nodded, recalling their conversation.  Gary had asked some very pointed and intelligent questions regarding the ad.   He had also explained exactly what he was hoping to accomplish with his fantasy.  It had been a most enlightening . . . and disturbing conversation.  

"I can assure you, Mr. Hobson," he replied, "that Mrs. Brown will feel nothing more than a brief period of . . . disorientation.  A bit 'dizzy,' if you will.  Absolutely no harm will come to her."  He paused, staring at Gary over his steepled fingers.  "Did you bring the advertisement with you, as I asked?"

"Y-yeah," Gary stammered, carefully extracting the clipping from his wallet and handing it to the enigmatic gentleman.  That was how Gary saw their host, as the very definition of how a gentleman should look and act.  He sensed an 'old world' air about the man that made him think of drawing rooms and 'matters of honor.'  "I, um, ran across it on page fourteen of the Sun-Times the day I called you."  Actually, it had been the day before, but he saw no reason to elaborate.  "That part about . . . about the blind . . . it just sorta jumped out at me," he added lamely.  His mud-green eyes cast a quick glance at his friend and partner, then focused on his fidgeting hands.

"I imagine it would," Mr. Roarke murmured with an indulgent smile.  He carefully read the advertisement, his dark brows knit in a puzzled frown.

Marissa turned her sightless visage toward the silent man.  "I want you to know one thing, Mr. Roarke," she stated in clipped tones.  "I know that Gary is almost convinced that you can work miracles, but I'm not.  What **_I_** want is your assurance that he's not being ripped off."

Gary squirmed uncomfortably, sure that Marissa had just 'queered the deal.'  He wanted this to happen, wanted it so bad that he was willing to pay whatever price was asked without so much as a blink.  He relaxed just a little when Roarke gave his friend an amused chuckle.

"Mrs. Brown," he said, "you have my most solemn vow that your friend is not being 'ripped off,' as you so eloquently put it.  He will get exactly what he has asked for, and more."  Rising from his chair with fluid grace, the older gentleman waved the hand holding the clipping toward a closed door.  "Could we step into my office for a moment, Mr. Hobson?  I would like to discuss this advertisement with you.  Privately."

That was Gary's cue.  Promising Marissa that he would be right back, he practically leaped from the chair, ducking through the door almost on the heels of his host.  

Marissa sat back with a sigh, certain her friend was setting himself up for a hard fall.  It was sweet of him to go to all this trouble for her sake, but it was a road she had been down too many times before.  She had learned a long time ago that it didn't pay to get her hopes up.

"Ahem!"

Jumping slightly at the sudden break in her reverie, Marissa turned toward the sound.

"Could I interest you in some refreshments, Madam?" Tattoo asked with an ingratiating smile.

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"Tell me exactly when and where this article appeared," Roarke insisted.  "And please do not insult my intelligence by lying.  You are a terrible liar, Mr. Hobson."

"So I've been told," Gary sighed as he slid into another chair.  "Look, Mr. Roarke, I'm not sure how much I _can_ tell you, or how much you'll believe."

Roarke settled back in his desk chair and leveled his piercing gaze on the younger man.  "Try me."

Sinking deeper into the chair with a weary sigh, Gary scratched the back of his neck as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

"I guess I should start back when I first met Marissa," he murmured distractedly.  "I'd just started at Strauss and Associates, as a stockbroker, where she was a receptionist.  I was, well, I was pretty green, just out of college, been married a coupla years and, um, things were kinda rocky.  It didn't take me long to realize that I hated my job, but I stuck with it to help my wife finish out her law degree and internship at this firm.  Anyway, Marissa seemed like a really nice person a-and maybe someone I could talk to about . . . things, b-but I didn't know her all that well a-and I'd never tried being friends with a person who was . . . was different."

"You mean handicapped," Mr. Roarke regarded him with an arched eyebrow.

"Um, yeah," Gary admitted, squirming uncomfortably under that penetrating gaze.  "I didn't want to say anything that might offend her, ya know?  A-and it seemed like everything that started to come out of my mouth sounded so . . . lame.  I finally worked up the courage to ask her out to dinner.  As a friend," he hastened to add.  "Just two friends getting to know each other better.  Well, she agreed, and I was trying to . . . to just figure out the ground rules and she, well, she got the wrong idea.  Marissa sorta thought I was, um, tryin' to proposition her," he winced.  He rubbed a hand over his face, chuckling at the memory.  "I thought I was gonna die of embarrassment.  By the time we got it all straightened out, we were well on the way to being the best of friends.  Later, when my marriage broke up, she was right there in my corner, trying to bolster my spirits and cheer me up.  Then . . . then I started getting tomorrow's newspaper . . . today."  He paused, trying to judge his host's reaction.  When Mr. Roarke merely nodded without comment, Gary felt relieved.  "At first I thought it was a misprint, then a sort of . . . of a lark.  I kinda had a little fun with it at first, even quit my job.  Then a friend was hurt and I realized I could've prevented it.  It was Marissa who finally forced me to face my responsibilities, and she's been my anchor through this whole thing.  When that ad replaced an article about . . . about an accident that I'd just prevented, it was . . . well, the timing was perfect," he added, leaning forward in his eagerness.  "You see, today is the anniversary of that dinner where we first became friends, and I wanted to give her something, a gift so special . . . you know?"

"A gift from the heart," Roarke nodded.  "A rare and precious thing, but my concerns lie more with this advertisement.  You say it simply appeared?  Did you check to see who might have placed it?"

"Well, no," Gary replied, clearly puzzled by such an odd question.  "I-I guess I just . . . You didn't . . .?  Then who . . . _why_ would someone else place an ad for _your_ resort?"

"Mr. Hobson," Roarke replied with a wry smile, "we have no need to advertise.  Our . . . facility provides a unique service.  Our reputation is spread strictly by word of mouth.  That is why this," he added, waving the news clipping, "intrigues me so.  You see, I _did_ contact the Sun-Times, and they have no record of this, nor was it in any other copy of that day's issue, only yours."

This revelation sent a chill up Gary's spine as he once more sank back into his chair, his gaze darting back and forth between Roarke's face and the inexplicable ad.  Not for the first time, he felt as if he were trapped in a surreal game of cat and mouse, with himself cast as the chief rodent.

"Do you have any enemies, Mr. Hobson?"

"A few," Gary admitted, his voice almost too low to be heard.  "I, um, I may have to testify against a couple within the next few months.  Th-they work . . . worked for this guy . . . Everyone thinks that he's dead, but . . . what if he's not?"

"That is certainly one possibility," Roarke mused.  "Another would be . . . Has this . . . periodical of yours ever . . . misled you before?  What I mean is, has an event ever been described which did not occur as expected?"

"Three times," Gary replied, his eyes widening in understanding.  "Each time I needed to have something happen to me . . . so that I could be in . . . in the right place at the right time," he added with a wry grin.  "These were all sorta . . . special occasions and I . . . I almost died the first coupla times, and just missed being arraigned for murder the third."

 Roarke let the clipping fall to the desktop as he settled back more comfortably in his chair.  He stared at Gary over his steepled fingers without comment until the younger man began to squirm under that steady gaze.

"This has not been an easy task for you, has it, Mr. Hobson?"  His tone was more that of a statement than a question.  "You are still a fairly young man with a long life ahead of you."  Roarke's eyes narrowed slightly as Gary flinched almost imperceptibly.  He had struck a nerve.  "I would imagine that, along with the day-to-day pressure of dealing with your omniscient periodical, you are also being 'encouraged' to remarry and start a family of your own."

"They nag me to death about it," Gary admitted with a rueful sigh.  Licking his lips nervously, he stared down at his hands to avoid returning that penetrating gaze.  "It's not like I don't _want_ to have a family.  I _love_ kids.  It's just . . . it wouldn't be fair t-to start something that . . . that I can't devote th-the time and attention to that they deserve.  I don't want my wife and kids having to deal with a part-time dad.  Or worse."  He finally looked up, meeting his host's unwavering stare.  "Is it wrong of me to feel that way?  Am I being . . . selfish o-or self-centered for not wanting to put myself in the position of, maybe, having to choose between the life of a stranger and the welfare of my own flesh and blood?  It's bad enough when it's my parents or . . . or my friends.  What if I was forced to choose between _my_ child and someone else's?  How'm I supposed to make a choice like that and still face myself in the mirror?"

Gary lunged from his seat and began pacing the length of the room, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck as the other provided punctuation for his mumbled tirade.

"A-and what about all the other weirdness?" he grumbled irritably.  "I've found at least four or five cousins that look enough like me to be clones.  I've been kidnapped and tortured twice because of mistaken identities and once for revenge.  Hell, I'd only been rid of that stupid sling a couple of days when I saw _that!_" he snapped, waving at the article.  "I've been . . . been haunted a-and _possessed,_ for cryin' out loud!  There's more than one maniac out there that would pounce on the tiniest chink in my armor.  Armor!" he snorted derisively.  "More like cheesecloth.  The first things I look for in The Paper each morning are the names of my friends, my family, anyone that I might be personally involved with.  I-it's second nature, I guess.  How can I add a wife and kids to that list?  What possible good would it do to bring a son or daughter into this world just to make them potential targets for the next lunatic that stumbles on my secret and decides to force my hand?"

"It appears that you have given this considerable thought," Roarke mused, his even tone belying the sympathy in his eyes.

"Just every day for the last six years," Gary sighed.  He paused, staring out the window at the magnificent view and seeing only the bleakness of his future.  "I've watched my two closest friends walk down the aisle, and one of them became the father of twins.  They even named the boy after me," he mused with a dry chuckle.  "I've helped save marriages that were on shaky ground, and spared people the agony of burying their loved ones.  Or at least, I've tried to."

An uncomfortable silence stretched out, filling the spacious, book-lined room as Gary continued to stare out the window at nothing.  Mr. Roarke was contemplating how best to proceed when Gary released an explosive sigh.

"It was all a setup, wasn't it?" the younger man murmured dismally.  "The ad was just a lure to get me here for some . . . some hidden purpose that I have to dig around and uncover for myself, or blindly stumble across.  Blindly," he repeated in a strained whisper.  Alarm was written all over his face as he turned back toward his host. "Marissa!  H-how is this gonna affect . . . I mean . . . Can we still . . .?"

"I think we must," was Roarke's grim reply.  He leaned forward, propping his forearms on his desk as he nodded for Gary to resume his seat.  "The way the article is worded would seem to dictate that course of action.  Whatever you are here to do must be accomplished within the limitations thus imposed.  I am not speaking only of your _physical_ limits, but also of time.  You have only until sunrise of the day after tomorrow before the process is . . . irreversible."

Gary slowly sank into his chair as the color drained from his cheeks, a look of near-panic in his muddy green eyes.

"I-I'll need help," he murmured in a shaky voice.  "Once we . . . once this is done, I won't be . . . I mean, I'll have to learn things in kind of a hurry, won't I."

Mr. Roarke's estimate of the younger man's character was raised several notches with that half-whispered comment.  Not once had young Mr. Hobson suggested canceling his fantasy, or even amending it to give himself an edge at the sacrifice of his friend.  

"Do not despair, Mr. Hobson," he replied with a confidant smile.  "You strike me as a man to whom nothing is impossible.  _And_ you have come to the right place.  This is, after all, Fantasy Island."

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They returned to the drawing room to find Tattoo flirting so outrageously that Marissa was hard pressed to keep a straight face.  The endearing little man's cherubic smile was lost on his intended target, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Tattoo!" Roarke gently admonished his friend.  "What was it you were saying earlier?  Something about 'consorting with a married woman'?  Mrs. Brown, from what Mr. Hobson has told me, is quite _happily_ married."

"That does not mean that she must stop enjoying herself," Tattoo spoke up in his own defense.  "It would be a _terrible _waste if such a lovely creature were to hide herself away and not enjoy all that I, um, _we_ have to offer."

Gary had to choke back a laugh at the little man's antics.  When he saw Marissa bite her lower lip and turn her head away, one hand brushing suspiciously at the corner of her eye, he almost lost it.

"You, um, you won't have to worry about that," Gary assured him.  "In just a little while, Marissa will be able to come and go as she pleases.  On her own."  He kept his gaze fixed on his friend, who now wore a skeptical look.

"Gary . . ." Marissa sighed.

Gary quickly knelt to take both of Marissa's hands in his and chewed his lower lip nervously, avoiding her eyes for the moment.

"Please, Marissa," he murmured softly.  "At least give it a try.  The worst . . . the worst that can happen is we waste a little time.  This place is incredible!  I'd really like you to see it for yourself."

"With you as my guide?" Marissa asked with a mischievous smile.

"I am afraid that will not be possible," Mr. Roarke quietly informed his guests.  "You see, the 'price' for this fantasy is that Mr. Hobson must perform a . . . 'service' for us in return.  If all goes well, we will add an extra day to your visit at our expense.  That way the two of you will have at least that one day together."

Marissa sat up straighter in her chair, her concern for Gary evident in every line of her petite frame.  What kind of 'service' could a man like this mysterious Mr. Roarke possibly need from Gary?

"Do not worry for his safety, Mrs. Brown," Mr. Roarke continued, as if reading her mind.  "I ask nothing of him that is not within his ability to perform."

"I don't like this, Gary," she murmured, still unconvinced that, as usual, her friend had not bitten off more than he could chew.

Gary gave Roarke a troubled look.  Without her cooperation, this would never work.  Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he fidgeted nervously, his gaze shifting about, looking anywhere and everywhere for inspiration.

"Marissa," he murmured in a pleading tone, his eyes downcast, "do you trust me?"

Marissa sat back, pulling her hands from his grasp as she did so.  After all they had been through, how could he even _ask_ such a question?

"You know I do!" she insisted.  "With my life!"

"But not with mine?" he asked pointedly.  "Don't you trust me to take care of myself?"

"N-, I mean yes," Marissa stammered, caught off guard by his bluntness.  Imagining the hurt look on Gary's face at her inadvertent slip, Marissa racked her brain for a graceful way out of this mess.  "Gary," she sighed.  "I know your heart is in the right place, and that you're only doing this for me, but . . . you have this . . . this _knack_ for finding the kind of trouble that can get you hurt, or killed.  I'm just asking you to be careful.  For my sake.  Please?"

"How can I say no when you put it like that?" he chuckled, letting her off the hook.  Gary reclaimed her right hand, holding it in both of his as he continued to plead his case.  "So, you'll do this?  For me?"

Marissa knew when she was fighting a losing battle.  She had never seen the face of her dearest friend, had only a vague idea of what he looked like based solely on touch, yet she imagined that he now looked like a hurt puppy, begging at her feet.  It was an image that she was finding hard to resist.

"You, Gary Hobson," she sighed, "are a rat.  Yes, I'll go along with whatever insanity you have in mind.  What do I have to do?"

"All you have to do, madam," Mr. Roarke told her, "is to open your eyes a little more and tilt your head back.  I am going to put some drops into your eyes so I need you to hold very still."  He suited action to words, then waited a moment as Marissa blinked reflexively to distribute the liquid evenly.  "Excellent.  Now lift your head just a bit and try not to blink anymore for a few seconds.  Good.  That's very good."  He nodded to Gary. 

Gary licked his lips nervously, a sudden feeling of foreboding sending a shiver up his spine.  This was one of the hardest things he had ever been asked to do.  But it had been his idea.  And it was for his dearest friend.  Tilting his head back, Gary held still as Mr. Roarke repeated the procedure, blinking rapidly to let the drops coat the surfaces of his eyes.  Slowly, he lowered his mud-puddle green eyes until he was staring directly into her warm brown ones.  

The change was so gradual, he almost missed it.  It started with just a tinge of lightness in those dark brown orbs, a slight twitch in the pupils as they began to react to the light for the first time in decades.  They widened in amazement as Marissa began to return his gaze, really seeing him for the first time since they had met.  Gary gave her a tremulous smile as he tried to maintain a brave front, for her sake.  He squeezed her hand a little, to hide the trembling in his own.

At first, Marissa was only aware of a tingling, a sort of itch in the front of her eyes.  Then the darkness seemed a little less . . . intense.  Shadow patterns began to take shape, just faint outlines of black against a slightly lighter background.  The shades began to resolve into colors, the patterns into shapes.  For just a brief moment, a pale oval hovered before her eyes.  Gradually, she began to make out the smoothly chiseled features that she could only have imagined before.

"You really do look like a Boy Scout," Marissa murmured faintly, just before her eyes rolled back into her head.  With a sigh, she slumped back in the chair, overcome by the rush of sensation and emotion.  Mr. Roarke stepped forward quickly and conducted a brief examination.

"She is fine," Roarke quickly assured Gary.  "Merely fainted, as I told you she might.  Now," he continued, giving the younger man a hand up from the floor, "let us get you safely out of sight.  After all, part of your fantasy is that she not be told the price until the process is to be reversed." 

 It took some effort to pull Gary to his feet.  The dark-haired younger man was actually trembling with fatigue, the transference having taken more out of him than he had anticipated.  He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand, trying to dispel the sudden pounding behind his eyes.

"Sh-she's gonna be okay?" Gary asked tremulously as he allowed himself to be led from the room.  "You won't let anything happen to her?"

"She is fine," Roarke repeated as he guided his young charge into an antechamber where two white-suited orderlies waited with a stretcher.  He motioned for them to take charge of the unconscious woman.  "She will be taken to her bungalow, where she will soon wake up to a bright new world.  Now, I must know how _you_ are feeling?"

"A-a little dizzy," Gary admitted.  "Scared.  I, um, I thought that it'd be easier the . . . the second time around.  At least . . . at least I knew what to expect this time."

"It did not help, did it?" Roarke asked kindly as he helped the younger man to a chair.

Gary groped blindly for the arm of the chair, easing into it slowly as his head turned to face his host with deep brown eyes, sightless eyes, that were not his own.

"No.  No, it didn't."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For Gary, it had been a much different experience.  He, too, had been given the eye drops, blinking rapidly to clear his vision before moving back into position in front of his dearest friend.  As he watched, her eyes began to change, lightening to a unique shade of mud-puddle green, as his own world began to close in.  It had started as just a rim of darkness out of the corner of his eyes, just a shadow that began to creep its way across his field of vision.  As the shadow continued its relentless encroachment, it grew stronger . . . and darker.  Soon, all he could see was Marissa's face, and even that had been reduced to a blurred field consisting of varying shades of black.  The angular planes of her face were softened until they blended into one smooth mass, which finally disappeared into . . . nothing.

It was done.  Marissa now had his eyes, and his oft-unappreciated gift of sight, while he would spend the next thirty-six hours with her eyes . . . and in her world of eternal darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tattoo watched as the lovely young African-American woman was eased onto the stretcher and carried from the room.  He had some idea of what was in store for her and secretly wished that he could spare her the ordeal.  

Looking up, he spied his employer and friend as Mr. Roarke dealt with the young man.  Even from the doorway, Tattoo could see the trembling in Mr. Hobson's hands as he ran them over his face, as if to remove the barrier that was obstructing his sight.  The young dwarf found himself in awe of the bond between these two, the strength of a friendship that could spur a healthy young man to, in effect, cripple himself in order that another might see, if only for a day or so.

Tattoo waited patiently until his boss had the young man settled, murmuring some words of comfort before straightening to his full height, and turning to face the door.  The look on his face was one of concern.  Mr. Hobson, in spite of his assurances to the contrary, was badly shaken by the loss of his sight.  

"Are you ready to begin your instruction?" Roarke asked, clearly speaking to Mr. Hobson even though his troubled gaze was fixed on Tattoo.

"No time like the present," Gary sighed.  He blinked reflexively and gave his head a tiny shake, still trying to clear his vision.  He knew it was a lost cause, but instinct conspired against him.  "Where do we start?  Um, th-the cane, maybe?  I need . . . need to be able to . . . to maneuver, at least."

"That would be an excellent place to begin," Roarke nodded, relieved to see that his guest was still able to reason.  "I have arranged for a qualified instructor.  He should arrive shortly."

"Good.  Good," Gary murmured distractedly.  "Marissa.  She's really . . . really okay?"

The desperation in the young man's voice, the constant need to be reassured of his companion's welfare, tore at Tattoo's heart.  In all the time that he had lived and worked on Fantasy Island, he had seen many devoted couples, and couples yet to be.  Few had displayed such fidelity as this man, whose companion's heart belonged to another.  It made Tattoo wonder; would her faith in him prove as true?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Marissa wasn't sure exactly what it was that awakened her.  Was it the warm sunlight caressing her face?  Or had it been the insistent twitter of birdsong outside her bedroom window?  Whatever it was, she felt in no hurry to answer that persistent call to awareness.  Stretching languorously, she rolled away from the bright sliver of light that lay directly across her eyes.

Her eyes.  Light.  

Slowly, memory of a cultured voice, a heavy continental accent began to stir her to wakefulness.  A deal had been made, a bargain struck.  

Blinking rapidly, Marissa opened her eyes.

The room was dimly lit in deference to her newly sighted status; still the incredible variety of shapes and colors was almost overwhelming.  Stunned, speechless, Marissa slowly levered herself to a sitting position, her eyes scanning the ornately decorated room hungrily.  She could see!  In spite of her assurances of faith, she had not really believed that Gary was not letting himself be deluded on her behalf.  That it wasn't just another empty promise by what amounted to a carnival trickster.  

Mr. Roarke had delivered on his promise.  She could see.  True, he had said it was only for a short time, but the things she could do in that time!

For the next several minutes, the newly sighted woman was all over the room, touching things to be sure that they were real, that she was really _seeing!_  She caressed the rich mahogany of the four-poster bed, smoothing down the brightly colored star quilt upon which she sat.  A silken scarf held up against the sunlight delighted her with its vivid display of colors.  

So enrapt was she with all the subdued brilliance, Marissa almost missed the modestly framed photograph on the dresser.  It was an 8x10 of a man and a woman.  The man was wearing a tuxedo, and the woman a long white dress.  A wedding dress.  Both were smiling as if their hearts were about to burst from happiness.  Hesitantly, Marissa looked up to see that woman's face reflected back at her from the mirror.  It was her and Emmett, on their wedding day, it had to be.  Fighting to breathe through a sudden constriction in her throat, Marissa's gaze was drawn back to that picture.  Emmett.  For the first time, she could actually see the face of the man who had stolen her heart.  Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to blind her anew.  But they were tears of joy for the wonderful gift her best friend had given her.  If she had ever harbored any doubts about how much Gary valued her friendship, they were forever dispelled by this one miraculous gesture.

A tentative knock drew her attention to the door.  Her first thought was that it was Gary, come to see the results of his handiwork.  Rushing to the door, she yanked it open, prepared to throw herself into his arms and hug him until he begged for mercy.  

"Oh, Gary!  I was . . ."

The words died in her throat as she looked up at the imposing figure standing before her.  Who was he, and where was Gary?

"E-excuse me," she stammered.  "Do I know you?"

"Forgive me for disturbing your explorations," he said with a slight bow.  "I am Mr. Roarke, your host.  We met only a few hours ago.  I gave your Mr. Hobson my word that I would 'check in' on you from time to time.  He is most touchingly concerned for your welfare."

"Oh," Marissa murmured, immediately relaxing as she recognized his voice, but unable to hide her disappointment.  "He can't see for himself?"

"Not . . . at the moment," Mr. Roarke replied, an ironic smile tugging at his lips.  "He is currently indisposed and has asked that I explain his fantasy for you in a little more detail.  Would you care to join me in a light repast while we speak?"

"I-I suppose," she murmured, her earlier joy dampened by the absence of her friend.  She wiped at her cheeks, trying to erase the evidence of her tears as unobtrusively as possible.  "He's okay, isn't he?  You aren't having him do something . . . dangerous, are you?"

"At the moment," Mr. Roarke assured her as he escorted her to the dining room, "Mr. Hobson is in no more danger than yourself.  His service, at this time, consists of . . . re-education.  He must . . . acquire new skills in order to perform the agreed upon task.  Please, have no worries as to his welfare."

"That's easy for you to say," Marissa grumbled as she allowed herself to be seated.  "You don't know him as well as I do.  Gary has a big heart.  He'll do whatever it takes as long as he feels that he's helping someone else.  But he gives up on doing things for himself too easily.  He blames the, I mean his, um, other . . ."  'Oh, dear,' she thought.  'How do I explain this?'

"It is alright, Mrs. Brown," Mr. Roarke assured her with a smile.  "Mr. Hobson informed me of his most 'special subscription.'  You may speak freely of it here."

"Okay, then," Marissa sighed.  "Gary blames the Paper for his lousy love life and uses it to keep people at a distance."

"Are you so certain that he is wrong?"  Mr. Roarke asked as he signaled the waiter.  A sumptuous brunch consisting of a flavorful quiche and a variety of exotic fruits was quickly set before them.  Coffee and fruit juice completed the meal.

"He has others who know about the Paper and how to handle it," she told him.  "He doesn't have to go it alone anymore.  Yet he insists that it's his responsibility and no one else, that it comes to him for a reason.  But it'll go to anyone it has to if he's unable to handle it for any reason.  If he _really_ wanted to, he could take more time for trips like this, meet a nice girl, and settle down.  But he won't even _try_ anymore.  Sometimes, he can be so . . . so pig-headed.  He's _so_ wrapped up in the Paper and himself that he has no time for anything else, including his friends and family.  It's like he's given up."

Mr. Roarke nodded thoughtfully throughout her little speech, the bulk of his attention apparently on his meal.  Mr. Hobson was right, he decided.  She had no idea the kind of stress her friend had to deal with each day.  It saddened him to taint the gift the young man had given up so much to arrange for his friend, but she needed to understand just what was at stake.

"You say that he has others who can help him," Mr. Roarke mused aloud.  "Yet, do these others not have lives of their own?  Would they not soon resent Mr. Hobson for . . . how do you . . . ah, dumping.  Would they not come to resent him for dumping his burden on them?  And would they make the same decisions, in the same way that he would?  Even a slight variation in technique can mean the difference between success and failure."

"I see your point," Marissa sighed as she toyed with her food.  The absence of her friend had put a damper on her appetite.  "Still, I don't see why he won't even try to date again.  Surely, the Paper doesn't mean for him to spend the rest of his life alone!  True, he's been through a lot of disappointment, and a lot of pain lately, but that's no reason to simply give up!"

With a quiet nod, Mr. Roarke silently conceded defeat to his unseen 'clients.'  Mrs. Brown would have her fantasy.  She would see all that Gary had wished for her to see; just not the way in which he had planned.  

He only prayed that their friendship could survive the ordeal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Running.  He was running in an endless maze, enveloped in a blanket of Stygian darkness that seemed to be sucking the very breath from his tortured lungs.  His stomach roiled as another wave of nausea threatened to send him to his knees.  A bitter, cloying taste lodging in his throat as he fought back a wave of dry heaves and dizziness; neither condition aided by the vicious pounding in his head.  Jackhammer blows slammed at his brain, centered around the oozing gash over his left eye._

"Mr. Hobson."

Startled, Gary turned his head from side to side, trying to locate the source of that disembodied voice.  All he saw was unrelenting darkness.  He didn't even have the normal 'static' that usually appeared when he closed his eyes.  There was nothing at all.

"Mr. Hobson, I need you to awaken, please," that smooth voice murmured.  This time his shoulder was taken in a firm grip and given a gentle shake.  "You must wake up, now.  We are somewhat pressed for time."

He tried blinking his eyes.  Still nothing.  Then, he remembered.  Mr. Roarke.  Marissa.  The gradual darkening of his vision, his world, to a dim blur that slowly faded to black.

"I'm awake," he mumbled, running one hand over his face to dispel the last traces of drowsiness.  He struggled to sit up straighter in the chair where he had fallen asleep.  "What time is it?" he asked, trying to massage away a lingering headache.

"It is time for you to begin your training," Mr. Roarke replied.  "Your instructor will be joining us for dinner.  I am told that the two of you are well acquainted.  How is your headache?"

"S'okay," Gary mumbled, his brows coming together in a puzzled frown.  He couldn't recall having met anyone who was qualified in the type of rehab he currently needed, especially in so short of a time frame as he had to work with.  He shuddered, recalling the months of grueling therapy he had been forced to endure after he had fallen down the stairs leading to his loft.  And that was just to walk with crutches!  How was he supposed to learn to navigate without his eyes in just hours?

A firm hand on his elbow helped Gary to his feet then guided him around unseen obstacles.  He kept his left hand raised slightly away from his body, trying not to bump into things.  Thus, he touched the edge of the French doors before he was actually led through them.  He raised his head to savor the feel of the sun on his face, a warm breeze tugging at his dark hair.  

"Feels nice," he murmured.  

"Yes," Mr. Roarke softly agreed.  "It is a beautiful day.  Be careful here, just a little step down.  Very good.  Now, it is ten steps over to the table where your instructor awaits.  I have taken the liberty of ordering a hearty lunch for the two of you.  You are doing quite well, Mr. Hobson.  You must still recall what it was like before."

"Yeah," Gary snorted.  "Scary as Hell.  If it hadn't 've been for Marissa . . . Is she okay?  H-how's she adjusting?"

"She is doing quite well," Roarke assured him.  "Here we are.  The back of the chair . . . very good," he murmured as Gary quickly found his seat and eased into it.  "Now, your dinner is directly in front of you.  On the plate, you have braised chicken at six o'clock, rice pilaf at ten o'clock and glazed carrots at two.  Around the plate, there is a fruit compote, salad with vinaigrette dressing, and a glass with a blend of tropical fruit juices at ten, one and three o'clock respectively.  Your eating utensils are at three and nine.  Very good.  Now, I will leave you two alone to enjoy your meal and discuss how best to conduct your lessons.  Good day, gentlemen."

"W-wait!" Gary pleaded.  "Aren't you going to . . . I mean, who else is here?"

"Don't worry, Gary," a softy accented voice chuckled.  "I promise to take care of you."

Gary's head jerked around, trying to orient on that familiar voice.  "Dr. Griner?"

"We're not here on business, Gary," the psychiatrist replied, his voice laced with amusement.  "I think we can drop the titles.  Now, just what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?" 

"I made a wish," Gary sighed.  He went on to explain about finding the ad and his idea for giving Marissa 'the gift of a lifetime.'  "Trouble is," he sighed as he attempted to load his fork, "Mr. Roarke says that we have to keep things in balance.  In order for her to see, he needed . . . a donor."

Gary could almost feel William's astonishment.  It hung about them like a tangible web that tingled as it brushed against his skin.  That was an eerie sensation for Gary, actually being able to feel another person's emotions.  Perhaps that was Marissa's secret, how she always seemed to know how he, himself, was feeling at any given moment.

"Is that possible?" William murmured.  "Can he actually swap senses from one person to another?"

"Apparently so," Gary chuckled grimly.  "I'm sitting here blind as a bat, and totally clueless as to how I'm supposed to fulfill the rest of this deal.  You see, the price of all this was kinda steep, this being such a special request and all.  So, I agreed to perform a, ahm, a service in return."

"What kind of service?"

Gary shrugged as he began to get the hang of bringing the food from the plate to his mouth without spilling it.  He quickly chewed that first bite, washing it down with a gulp of fruit juice before answering.

"Sorry," he murmured sheepishly.  "I forgot that we're in the same boat, now.  He hasn't told me what he wants, yet.  But he seems to think I'll have no trouble doing it."

"But you don't share that opinion," William cannily observed.

"That obvious, huh?" Gary chuckled dryly.  "This . . . situation is, well, I managed okay the first time I lost my sight, but only because I had someone to hold my hand and show me the way.  This time, unless he plans to recruit you, too, I'm on my own.  So, yeah, I have my doubts.  Is that so unreasonable?"

"Not at all," William assured his younger friend.  "In fact, I'd be worried if you didn't have doubts.  This is foreign territory for you.  By my understanding, we only have today and tonight to get you adjusted enough to function for this 'task.'  Knowing what it was would help us formulate a plan of action.  Should we start with the cane, or work on your 'shadow vision'?"

"Shadow vision?" Gary mused, unfamiliar with the term.  "What's that?"

"It's a sort of . . . extension of your other four senses," the sightless psychiatrist tried to explain.  "It's hard to . . . When you came through the French doors a moment ago, why did you bring you're hand up?  I heard the sound when you grabbed it," he quickly explained.

"I don't know," Gary shrugged.  "I just felt . . . like there was something there.  I didn't want to hit it."

"Exactly," William grinned.  "That's shadow vision.  I have it, apparently Marissa has it, and so do you.  Surprisingly, few people develop it unless they've been blind from birth.  Others, like me, seem to luck into it.  It made the adjustment a lot smoother for me.  Hopefully, it will for you, too.  As soon as we've let our lunch settle, we can start with getting you used to the cane.  It probably wouldn't hurt you to learn a little Braille but, from what you've told me, that would be a waste of time.  Braille isn't somethin' you can learn in a hurry."

"That leaves us with what?" Gary sighed.  "The cane and what else?"

"That's the main thing, right there," William replied.  "You'd be surprised just what goes in to using that stick.  It's not just tapping it on the ground.  That thing is an extension of your sense of touch.  Outside, without the aid of a guide dog, there's all sorts of stuff that can trip you up, or that you can fall into.  Inside, that's less of a risk, although you still have to be careful in stairwells, elevators and escalators.  The techniques for inside and outside take things like that into account.  You also have to learn to focus on your other senses: smell, hearing, touch, and even taste to a certain extent."

Gary sat back, his appetite suddenly diminished by the enormity of the task ahead of him.  "All that in just a few hours?" he squeaked.  "Is that possible?"

"Gary," William chuckled, "one thing I've learned since taking you on as a patient is that nothing is impossible.  Unlikely, yes.  Improbable, most likely.  Impossible just isn't in your dictionary."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Marissa just stood there for several seconds, staring at the door to which the enigmatic Mr. Roarke had led her.  Her hand trembled slightly as she slowly reached for the handle.  On the other side of that dark, wooden portal was her future, or so she had been told.  In spite of her close association with Gary Hobson and his knack for twisting 'coincidence' to the breaking point, she was having a hard time believing that anyone could manipulate the future.  She had even said as much to their host.

"The future is not yet written, Mrs. Brown," Mr. Roarke had agreed.  "All that I can show you are the possibilities that lie before you if a given path is followed.  Every decision you make from this day forward opens, and closes many doorways."

"I've often wondered," she had mused at that point, "if I could handle The Paper any better than Gary.  If I could see, that is.  I mean, it can't be _that_ hard to juggle a few rescues and a family; can it?  Especially since he has someone to help him now.  I'm not saying he doesn't do the best he can," she hastened to add.  "It's just that, well, his heart doesn't seem to be in it anymore.  Sometimes he acts as if he'd like nothing more than to dump everything and go running off to hide from the world; like he did once before."

With those words, Marissa had unwittingly 'sealed the deal', so to speak.  So intent was she on absorbing the bright, colorful scenery of the tropical island, she failed to see Mr. Roarke's eyes close momentarily, his shoulders slumping with a sigh of resignation.  It was then that he gently took her by the arm and led her to the room in which she now stood.  

Aside from the door through which they had entered, six others led into other rooms of the building, two in each of the three adjoining walls.  Mr. Roarke had guided Marissa to the first portal on her left.

"You will start here, Mrs. Brown," he told her in a solemn tone.  "At precisely noon, you may open this door and experience up to one hour of your future."

_"Possible_ future," Marissa reminded him with tiny smile.  She glanced up to see a clock directly over the doorframe.  Looking around, she noticed that each door had its own clock.  Each showed a quarter 'til the hour.

"The doors are each on a separate time lock," Mr. Roarke explained, noting her puzzled glance.  "Each will open at a given hour, and _only_ at that time.  You have no more than a two-minute window in which to enter before it is sealed until the following day, at the same hour.  However, you may enter each room once, and once only."

He had then excused himself, saying that he had 'other matters' to attend to.  Marissa suspected that he had gone to assign Gary whatever task he was supposed to perform in return for this fantasy.

That had been more than ten minutes ago and Marissa was beginning to think that all of the clocks, including her watch, had stopped.  She began to pace restlessly, unconsciously closing her eyes in order to listen for the almost inaudible whirr of the mechanisms, the faint click as the minute hands advanced one more notch.  She became so focused on this one, highly tuned sense, that her mind was soon filled with the images of hundreds of clocks, each marking the inexorable march of time with a cacophony of clicks, whirrs, ticks, and tocks.

The tiny _snick_ of the lock's release almost gave her a heart attack.  In her extremely focused state, it had sounded like a gunshot.  Marissa stared at the door handle as if it were a snake preparing to strike.  The sudden realization that she had only a brief window of opportunity shocked her back to her senses.  She snatched the door open with a jerk that almost unbalanced her.  Quickly stepping through into a wall of mist, she wondered what scene in her future Mr. Roarke had laid out for her.

As the mist cleared, Marissa found herself standing in a brightly lit room painted to mimic a sunny day.  The walls were a pale blue with little puffs of white scattered about the upper half.  Stenciled shapes of sheep, cows, puppies, and kittens were strewn liberally over the lower portions.  Her rapt gaze quickly took in a small chest of drawers, a changing table, a rocking chair, and a bassinette. Finally, almost fearfully, she approached the focal point of the gaily-decorated room, the baby's bed.

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to blind her anew, as Marissa gazed down at the tiny form dozing peacefully in the middle of the bed, the infant's tiny little mouth suckling on a perfectly formed fist.  Marissa leaned forward for a closer look, careful not to awaken the sleeping baby.  Her heart swelled as she realized that she was looking down on _her_ child, her _first-born_ child!  

"A daughter," she murmured softly, awed at the discovery.  "I'm going to have a little girl."

Her voice must have been louder than she had intended, for the infant's face scrunched up, the tiny mouth puckering in a grimace that was almost comical as the baby awoke with a high-pitched wail.  Instantly, her maternal instinct kicked into overdrive as she reached in to lift her daughter, cradling the child carefully close to her heart.  

"It's okay, little one," she crooned to the squirming child.  "Everything is alright.  Momma's here and she won't let anything happen to her precious baby."  Marissa soon discovered the reason for the little girl's fussiness, and put the changing table to good use.  "There we go, sweetie," she purred as she once more cradled the contented infant in her arms.  "Is Momma's angel hungry?  Let's see what we have to feed my precious girl."  Beneath the changing table, she found a number of bottles holding premixed baby formula.  Taking one, she carefully removed the seal and screwed on the sterile nipple.  Settling herself into the chair, she gently rocked her baby as the infant made short work of the formula.  "Oh, my," she giggled.  "That's quite an appetite you have.  Now, what would you like to do?  You're a little young for bedtime stories, and I don't think I can take you for a stroll.  Not that I wouldn't love to, it's such a beautiful day.  I just don't know what will happen if we leave this room.  Oh, I know!  Why don't I sing you a lullaby?"

"I thought I'd find you here."

Marissa looked up at the sound of that wonderfully familiar voice.  For the first time, she gazed lovingly upon the face of the man who had won her heart, and her hand.

"Emmett!" she murmured in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper.  Suddenly, she was in his arms, kissing him passionately, yet careful of the child in her arms.  Breaking away only when she could no longer deny the need to breathe, she leaned back only far enough to look into his eyes.  She drank in the sight of him, like water after a week in the desert.  "I never thought . . . You are so handsome!" 

"Whoa!"  Emmett looked down at his petite wife, love all but glowing in his eyes.  A playful smile spread across his mahogany features as he rocked her gently in his arms.  "You act like you've never seen me before!  It hasn't been _that_ long since breakfast, has it?"

"No," Marissa sniffled, leaning her head against his broad chest.  "It just seems that long."  She glanced up at the Mother Goose clock over the changing table.  "Are you ready for lunch?"

"No time," Emmett sighed, letting his arms drop only after giving her a brief kiss on the forehead.  "I just came home to pick up that deposition I was going over last night and to see my favorite girl," he added, cooing at the giggling infant.  "Daddy couldn't come home and not check in on his Angel.  I'll have to grab something on the way to the office.  What about you, are you gonna have time to eat, or is that Paper running you ragged again?"

Marissa fought to suppress a shiver, telling herself that it was a chill brought on by the sudden absence of his arms.  She took a moment to lay the now quiet infant back in her bed, tucking the covers about her carefully.  It gave Marissa time to get her scattered thoughts in order.

"P-paper?" she stammered.  "What . . . what do you mean?"

"You know," Emmett shrugged as he turned for a door that she had yet to notice.  "Tomorrow's Paper."  He paused to eye her clinically.  "Are you okay?  You look a little tired.  Did something happen?  You did save the little girl from that dog, didn't you?"

"Um, yes," Marissa replied, hoping that she wasn't lying.  "E-everything's fine.  Wh-when did . . . I mean, how long have you known . . .?"

"About the Paper?"  Emmett still wore that worried look as he answered her.  "Since shortly after Gary disappeared.  Don't you remember telling me?  Everyone was so worried, wondering what happened to him.  You and Lois finally told me at his memorial service.  That's also when you told me that you'd been getting it since the day after he vanished."  He stepped closer, placing both hands on her shoulders.  "Are you sure you're okay?  How could you have forgotten that?"

"I-I'm fine," Marissa hastened to assure him, trying to hide how shaken she truly was.  Gary was gone, and _she_ was handling The Paper?  How could that be?  His replacement had already been chosen, and she was nowhere close to being old enough to take on the burden, or was she?  How far in the future was she and where was Lindsay?  More importantly, what had happened to Gary?  She looked up to see Emmett eyeing her with concern.  "Really," she sighed, trying to present a front of normality.  "I'm just a little tired, I guess."

Emmett stared at her a moment longer, then evidently decided to take her at her word.  He let his hands drop to his sides and turned for the door once again.  Picking up the jacket that he had tossed over the back of a chair, he flashed her a strained smile.

"Well," he murmured, "you'd better let Robin know what time you'll be back.  Lois said that she'll be over later to fix dinner for us since you still have two more accidents and a fire to prevent.  And please be careful at the bank today.  I've never been comfortable with you and anything involving guns."

"Mmm," Marissa agreed, not really sure what he was talking about.  "Maybe I should let Peter handle that one."

"That would be nice," Emmett sighed, "except that he's still in the hospital with a head injury, remember?  If I had my way, I'd take the bank robbery.  Unfortunately, I have to be in court while that's going down."  He paused with one hand on the doorknob, shaking his head with a sigh.  "You know, as much good as you're able to accomplish with that thing, I often wish that I'd never seen it.  Or that Gary was still around to handle it.  I'd been hoping that, now that you have your sight back, we could go places, do things that normal couples do.  Now, you can't go anywhere without checking with that damned rag first.  Maybe that's why Gary disappeared.  He just couldn't take it anymore."

Stung, Marissa wasn't sure how to answer that.

"You really can't believe that Gary could be so irresponsible," she finally replied.  "He almost ran himself to death for more than six years and seldom got so much as a 'Thank you' for all that he suffered through.  He had to put up with suspicion, ridicule, and ingratitude; even from his friends.  But he hung in there because . . ."

"Because he didn't know how to live with the guilt if he let it go," Emmett finished for her.  "Well, he found a way around that problem, didn't he?"  He looked at his watch.  "Sorry, Baby," he sighed.  "I know he didn't get himself killed on purpose.  I honestly didn't mean to imply that, and I'd be happy to stand here and apologize all day, but I have to get back to the courthouse.  If I screw this case up, I'll be back to preparing briefs for the 'real lawyers' until Hell freezes over."

With that, Emmett snatched the door open and stepped through.

"Wait just a minute, buster," Marissa snapped, hastening to follow her husband.  "You don't start something like this and just . . . walk . . . away."

Her words trailed off as she was once more enveloped in the misty shroud.  When it cleared, she was back in the central antechamber where her sojourn had begun.  Emmett was nowhere in sight.  Turning quickly, Marissa tried to stop the door from closing, hoping to have just a few more minutes with her little girl.  Her hopes were dashed as the latch clicked shut.

"That's not fair!" she moaned.  "I was supposed to have an hour!  You tricked me!"

"Not so."  

Marissa spun around at the sound of that high-pitched, gravelly voice, to find Tattoo standing beside the front door; the only one without a clock over it.

"You were given _up to_ one hour," he reminded her.  The tiny assistant manager glanced at the clock above the next door.  "You have almost thirty minutes before the next one will open.  Would you care for some refreshments?"

With a moan of frustration, Marissa sank into an easy chair that had not been there when she was first escorted to this strange room.  Or had it been there all this time without her noticing?  

`

Thirty minutes!  How was she supposed to kill thirty minutes?

"Yes," she sighed.  "I'll take a Mai Tai.  A large one."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gary paused, listening intently to the sounds of leaves rustling to three sides of him.  A warm, gentle breeze stirred his hair, lifting his bangs and letting them fall across his forehead.  The wind felt strongest on the right side of his face, as did the warmth of the afternoon sun, yet the sounds of the leaves was muted only on that side.  He was in another cul-de-sac.  

Turning to his right, Gary retraced his steps.  Pausing to listen, he tried to recall how many turns he had made, and in which directions.  Cautious probing with his cane encountered no obstructions to either his right or left.  He had turned left to enter the dead end branch of the maze, therefore he should turn left again to get back on track, he hoped.

The next intersection turned out to be a V-shaped junction that Gary discovered by running into the point of the V, face first.  

"So much for shadow vision," he grumbled, spitting out a crushed leaf and brushing something that felt like a cobweb from his face.  "Okay," Gary sighed.  "Right or left?"  Angling one way, then the other, Gary clapped his hands smartly in each direction, pausing to time the echoes down each lane.  "Right," he decided.  

The tip of his cane swept the ground in front of him and a little to each side as he proceeded down the narrow branch of the maze.  Two more rights and a left finally brought him to the exit and kudos from his host and his 'teacher.'

"Very good, Mr. Hobson," Roarke congratulated him.  "You navigated the labyrinth in less than an hour.  Most sighted people need at least an hour and a half."

"Most sighted people don't end up getting their veggies along the way," Gary mumbled irritably, after turning to expel another leaf from his mouth.  "I think we can forget the 'shadow vision' deal," he added, turning to face where he assumed William to be.  "I think I ate half that hedge."

"Don't let that discourage you," William chuckled, stepping up to wrap Gary's arm around his left elbow.  One of the few things that he didn't have to teach his younger friend was that blind people don't like to be led; they preferred to be guided.  Close association with Marissa over the years had taught Gary the difference between the two.  "A lot of the newly blind have the same problem.  I didn't know how to handle it myself, at first," he admitted as he guided his student back to the patio and a pitcher of cold fruit juice.  He waited until they were all comfortably seated before he continued.  "It's kinda like a driver switchin' from an automatic to a manual transmission.  You already know you have to switch gears, you're just not sure how or when.  I think your problem is that you're tryin' too hard to focus on everything at once."

The blind therapist rubbed thoughtfully at his chin as he tried to think of an analogy that would help in this bizarre situation.

"Have you ever watched that 'Star Wars' movie?" he finally asked.  "The first one, not the sequels."

"Well, yeah," Gary murmured, uncertain as to where this conversation was going.  "Did you?"

"A friend took me once," William chuckled.  "The sound effects were pretty good, and the plot was okay.  Can't say much for the visuals, though."

Even Mr. Roarke had to groan at that one.

"I'm not exactly Han Solo," Gary grumbled, pausing to take a sip of his juice.  "Besides, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Just give me a minute," William told his audience.  "I'm getting' there.  Besides, you're more the Luke Skywalker type, and I'm wise old Ben Kenobi.  Do you recall the scene on the Millennium Falcon where ol' Ben was tryin' to teach Luke about the Force?  He told the kid to let go of his other senses.  He didn't say not to use them, but not to let them confuse him.  That's what you have to do, Gary.  Stop tryin' to focus on everything at once.  Just set your other senses on autopilot and let yourself feel your environment."

"Great," Gary mumbled half under his breath.  "Now I'm in the Jedi Academy.  Do I get one of those nifty light-sabers, too?" 

"I heard that, Gary," William admonished with a dry chuckle.  "Now, let's get back to work.  You seem to be doin' pretty good with that cane on level ground, so why don't we see how well you handle rough terrain?  Are you up for a little stroll?"

"Yes, Master Obi Wan," Gary sighed as he pushed himself to his feet.   "But I better warn you, if Darth Vader shows up, I'm outta here."

"Sit down and finish your juice, Grasshopper," the older man laughed.  "We're not in that big of a hurry."

"Now you sound like Mr. Caine," Gary mumbled good-naturedly.  He angled his head toward where he was sure he had heard Mr. Roarke take a seat.  "We may be in trouble here.  I think my therapist is having an identity crisis."

Mr. Roarke chuckled dryly at the attempted humor, thankful that neither man could see the despair in his eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~****

Marissa stepped into the mist once more, not knowing what to expect.  She was still feeling frustrated by her earlier encounter with Emmett.  How could he possibly believe that Gary would be so irresponsible as to simply disappear and leave her to deal with The Paper?  True, Gary was finding it harder and harder to commit himself to anything resembling a schedule, but that was an 'occupational hazard.'  After all, he had no way of knowing what lay in store him each day until he had The Paper in his hands.  This weekend was the first break he had given himself that didn't require at least one day in the hospital in months. That is, if one could count that disastrous 'vacation' he had taken with Jake and the twins over the holidays.  Gary had come back from that sounding as if he were barely able to move!

The mists finally cleared and Marissa found herself standing in an unfamiliar kitchen.  It was a spacious room with what appeared to be very modern built-in appliances.  The counter was laid out in an L-shape, leading to her right, which put everything within easy reach, with the range built into an island that occupied the center of the room.  To her left was a breakfast nook situated in front of a bay window.  Next to the booth, warm sunlight streamed in through sliding glass doors that led out to a spacious back yard.

"Momma! Momma!"

Marissa turned just in time to catch the miniature whirlwind in her arms.  She instantly knew that this was her daughter, now approximately six years of age.  The little girl wrapped her arms tightly around Marissa's neck and gave her a wet kiss.  Pulling her head back, the bright-eyed charmer grinned inches from her mother's face.

"Did I do it right?" she asked, stepping back and spreading her arms wide.  

"Um, yes, sweetie," Marissa stammered, not exactly sure what 'it' was.  From the stance the child had taken, she had to assume it had to do with the way she was dressed.  "You look wonderful!  Is this a special day?"

How could a six-year-old have mastered the 'Du-uh!' look so well?  Maybe she needed to have a talk with Emmett about something other than the Paper!

"It's the first day of _school_, Mommy!" the little girl replied in exasperation.  "You were gonna take me, remember?"

"Oh, um, right," Marissa murmured, suddenly realizing she didn't even know her child's name.  "Just, um, just let me check something first."  She had spotted an orange tabby sitting just outside the sliding doors, sitting on a newspaper.  Marissa was sure that neither had been there just a moment ago.  

She found that her hand was shaking as she reached out to move the door aside.  This was the first time she would actually see The Paper for herself.  Always before, she had taken it on faith, knowing that Gary would never lie to her.  In a way, this would be a confirmation of sorts.  

The cat took one look at her and gave a dainty sneeze before settling more comfortably on its 'mat.'  Marissa reached down to lift the orange feline off The Paper, only to draw her hand back quickly when it greeted her with a low growl.

"What is wrong with you?" she whispered, not wanting to alert her daughter to the fact that she was arguing with a cat.  "How can I read the Paper if you're sitting on it?"

The cat just glared at her, its green eyes narrowed to mere slits.  Grudgingly, he gave another snort, then stiffly rose and stalked away.  This behavior puzzled Marissa.  The cat had always been so friendly to her before!  Keeping a watchful eye on the irate feline, she slowly took the Paper and straightened up.   She waited until the door was safely closed, putting a barrier between her and the cat.  There would be plenty of time to ponder this new development.  

The little girl had managed to climb into the breakfast nook while Marissa was retrieving the Paper.  She now sat with both hands on the table in front of her, a sour look on her cherubic face.

"I hate it," she grumbled, glaring at the back door.  "I wish it would go away and never come back."

"Why do you say that, honey?" Marissa asked, kneeling at the end of the table and looking up into those deep brown eyes.  "It's just a cat."

"It's a _bad_ cat," the little girl pouted.  "He's always mad at you, and he makes you go away sometimes."

"But not all the time," Marissa pointed out reasonably.  She was a little bothered by the child's observation, but more concerned with her daughter's attitude.

"Enough."  The dark-skinned little beauty gave her mother a look that would have melted the heart of a glacier.  "You're still gonna take me to school, aren't ya, Momma?"

**"**Of course I am, sweetie!" Marissa promised her little girl.  "I wouldn't . . ."

"_Shouldn't_ make promises you can't keep."

Marissa looked up to see Emmett scowling at her from the archway that evidently led to the rest of the house.  He stepped up to snatch the Paper from her hand.  Quickly skimming through the headlines, he pulled a pen out of his pocket and began circling articles.  He seemed to be circling a lot of them.

"Looks like you've got another busy day," he murmured thoughtfully.  "I'll call the office and tell them I'll be a few minutes late.  That way I can take our little pumpkin to school while you see what you can do about that overturned bus and the hit and run.  If you like, I can take an early lunch and deal with this choking incident while you're busy with the woman in the lion's enclosure at the zoo.  I eat at that restaurant every day.  I'm not sure what we can do about this hit and run, and the woodshop amputation.  They happen within half an hour of each other and I'm going to be in a meeting most of the morning and in court all afternoon."

"M-maybe I can ask one of the others to help?" Marissa suggested, wondering at what point Emmett had become so involved with the Paper.  

"What others?" Emmett snorted.  "Peter Caine is off on a another of his 'Dragon's Wing' escapades, his father disappeared two years ago, Bernie spends all his time at the nursing home, praying for Lois to recover from that stroke she had last month.  Who else is there?  Chuck?  We haven't seen him since that last movie of his grossed over two hundred million.  Jake?  The twins?  Buddy's on tour.  Clay and Jake still haven't given up on finding Gary.  They've used up a lot of the foundations resources, and quite a bit of their own on the search.  It's been almost seven years and those three are the only ones besides Lois and Bernie who refuse to face facts.  Gary is gone.  Even if he is still alive, he must have no intention of coming back.  No, it's just you and me, babe."

Marissa was stunned.  She had assumed, illogically it seemed, that there would always be _someone_ they could turn to for help.  Evidently, that wasn't to be the case.

"Wh-what about Crumb?" she asked, fishing for a solution.  "O-or the police?  Detectives Armstrong and Brigatti used to . . ."

Ooops!  Emmett was looking at her strangely again.

"Crumb died last March, a heart attack," he told her.  "Brigatti quit the force to take his place at the Foundation.  Paul Armstrong has been in a wheelchair for the last two years.  Remember that suicide attempt that went sour?  We both decided that the police were better equipped to handle it since it was some kid strung out on dope."  A rueful grimace crossed his face as he turned his attention to fixing their daughter's breakfast.  "We were wrong."

At a loss for words, Marissa slid into the seat across from her daughter, her face a mask of shock and confusion.  So much had happened in just six years, most of it in the last two.  Lois in a nursing home with a stroke.  Crumb dead from a heart attack.  Would he still be alive if help had gotten to him in time?  Had she known about the imminent attack and chosen not to do anything, or had she been forced to choose between their old friend and something more catastrophic?  And Paul!  How could they have failed him like that?  Gary would never _ever_ have pushed off his responsibilities like she evidently had.  

And she was still looking for someone to help her.

Gary had carried the burden alone, basically, for almost seven years, and she had evidently been leaning on others for almost that long.  Was it because she was so weak in character that she felt overwhelmed with the task?  Or had she welcomed the help that was offered initially, coming to depend on it as Gary had refused to?  She had often scolded Gary for refusing his father's and Peter's help when things were tough, telling him that he had no business complaining if he were going to be so stubborn.  Yet, he _had_, on occasion, accepted help when needed and usually in such a way as to accomplish more than one goal.  Was it his stubbornness as well as his compassion that had made him so good at what he did, or was it something more?

Looking back, she could recall only three occasions when Gary had failed to save a life.  The first was Jeremiah Mason, the homeless man who had slipped from Gary's hands, falling to his death while escaping from a burning apartment house.  That had thrown Gary into an almost suicidal depression, making the prophesy of his own death seem . . . right.  Marissa was thankful, yet as mystified as everyone else as to how he had come out of his ordeal practically unscathed.  Gary never spoke of it, and she had stopped asking.

Next had been Frank Scanlon, a muckraking investigative reporter for the Sun-Times.  The 'dog with a bone,' as he liked to call himself, had fallen victim to the very murder for hire scheme that he had been investigating.  Because the time of death had initially been reported wrong, Gary had arrived too late to save the arrogant newshound, and just in time to be accused of his murder.  It had taken determination, luck, and six kinds of miracles to catch the guilty parties and clear Gary's name.

The third had been Earl Camby, a local Good Samaritan whom Gary had been unable to save from being injured by a large piece of glass from a broken skylight.  He had stayed with Earl as long as he could, trying to keep the injured man from slipping into shock and succumbing to the below zero temperatures.  Yet, because Camby had died, another man, Cliff Morning, was saved.  Not only saved, but reformed.  He had been a bitter, miserly man with few redeeming qualities, none of them visible.  His brush with death, however, and the knowledge that another had to die so that he could live, had brought about an almost miraculous change in the man.  Gary had spent hours telling him all about Earl Camby and the good the man had done.  

It was almost as if it were fated to happen that way.  If Earl had died alone, his body would not have been found in time for his organs to be harvested.  If Gary had not inadvertently goaded the foul tempered landlord into a heart attack, his condition might have gone undiscovered until nothing could save him, perhaps succumbing to an attack while alone in his empty apartment to lie undiscovered for days.  

How many others had also benefited from the precious gifts Earl had left behind?  They might never know.

"Honey?  Are you alright?"

Marissa snapped herself back to the present with a quick shake of her head.

"I'm fine, dear," she murmured softly.  "Just . . . just thinking."

"Well, you'd better get to thinking of how you're gonna keep that bus from flipping over," her husband reminded her with a quick kiss on her cheek.  "You've only got forty-five minutes to get there."

Looking around, she noticed that her daughter was taking an empty cereal bowl to the sink, where Emmett was rinsing out an empty coffee cup.  Just how long had she sat there lost in thought?

Emmett folded the Paper and handed it back to his wife.  "You'd better hurry, babe," he told her as he led their child toward the front of the house.  "Um, you might try flagging it down a couple of blocks before that blind turn.  That way she won't be going so fast."

"Uh, sure," Marissa murmured, feeling that things had already started spiraling out of control.  "Wh-where . . .?"

"It's right there on page three, honey," Emmett called back over his shoulder.  He and the little girl were almost through the arch.  The child suddenly turned, racing back to throw her tiny arms around her mother's neck.

"I love you, Momma," she said, then gave Marissa a kiss on the cheek.  Before Marissa could respond, the child, her daughter, had raced back to join her father.

With a sigh, Marissa turned her attention to the Paper.  It only took her a moment to realize that she was in trouble.

For most of her life, she had been blind, able to read only in Braille.  The printed alphabet was only a variety of odd shapes she had learned to draw by feel.  How was she supposed to relate those abstract shapes into coherent words and phrases?  Given time, Marissa was sure that she could.  But did she have that much time?

Feeling lost and confused, Marissa jumped up from her seat and ran to catch up with her family.

The mists rose up to meet her the instant her foot crossed the threshold.  

"No!" she whimpered.  "Not now!"

When the mists cleared, she was back in the antechamber with four more doors to go.  Looking at her watch, Marissa saw that she had been in that other time for almost forty-five minutes.  Forty-five minutes!  And she had wasted most of it on introspection and recriminations!  Why couldn't she have paid more attention to what she had gone there to see, her husband and child?

With a low growl of frustration, Marissa flopped down in the chair.  Less than fifteen minutes now until the next door opened.  She vowed that this time would be different.  This time, nothing would keep her from her family.  Absolutely _nothing!_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"We need to talk, Gary," William murmured.  The two sightless men were relaxing on the patio after a grueling trek up and down a nearby hillside.  When the therapist had warned his student about uneven ground, he had not been joking.

"About what?" Gary sighed.  "The weather?"

"No," the older man chuckled.  "Although it does feel nice here.  Seriously, Gary, if I'm gonna be able to help you, then I need to know everything."

"Everything?" Gary squeaked, startled by the request.  "Wh-what do you mean by 'everything'?"

"I need to know whatever it is that keeps putting you in these situations," William elaborated.  "Do you just have a knack for stumbling into trouble, or is 'trouble' stalkin' you?  You have to admit, since I've known you, we've met more often at the hospital than my office."

Gary considered the request.  Just how much could he expect the psychiatrist to believe without being able to actually see the Paper?  True, Marissa had accepted his word on faith, but her entire _life_ was based on faith.  Faith in God, herself, and the friendship they had built over the years.  

It was a different matter with Dr. Griner.  In spite of the rapport they had developed, Gary had to remind himself that William was trained to be impartial and analytical.  Was he capable of the same kind of faith, and trust, that Marissa had always displayed, or would he be on the phone within minutes, reserving a padded suite?

"Do, um, d-do you believe in God?" he finally stammered.  "O-or the supernatural?"

William wasn't sure how to answer that.  Before Viet Nam, the answer would have been an unequivocal 'yes.'  His mother was a devout Lutheran and had raised him the same way.  On the day he had lost his sight, however, that faith in the Lord had been badly shaken.  It had taken being kidnapped and almost dying to restore that ingrained belief to some extent, not only in God, but also in himself.

"I'd have to say my world pretty much revolves around faith," he hesitantly replied.  "Even before I lost my sight I, well, I was still young enough to find 'miracles' in some pretty unlikely places.  After . . ." he murmured, his voice trailing off.

"A little harder to believe after something like that," Gary admitted.  "What . . . what if I told you that . . . that I get tomorrow's newspaper . . . today?"

Gary could almost hear the wheels turning in William's head as the silence stretched out to unbearable lengths.

"If a fella _did_ get something like that . . . every day," Gary cautiously continued, "it would be only . . . only natural t-to use it, don't you think?  N-not for personal gain," he hastened to add.  "That would be, well, wrong.  But think of all the trouble you could stop before someone was actually injured o-or killed!  I mean, what kind of person would . . . would _let_ a child be hit by a car if he could stop it?  O-or wouldn't stop a robbery before the gun was even drawn, if he could?"

"I think we're gettin' into uncharted waters here," William murmured.  "Has anyone else actually _seen_ this . . . this, um . . .?"

"My parents," Gary sighed, rubbing one hand over his face in a gesture of weariness that was not entirely lost on his companion.  "My former partner, Chuck Fishman, Peter Caine, and his father, Kwai Chang.  My ex-girlfriend, Erica Paget, and her son, Henry.  A couple of kids who didn't really understand what they were seeing.  Oh, and a fella who heard about it from someone who knew the last fella to get it."

"Will any of them vouch for what you say?" William persisted.  "It's not that I don't believe you, Gary.  At least, I want to believe you; it would explain so much.  But you do understand the situation I'm in?  This is a little outside my field of study."

"Yeah," Gary chuckled dryly.  "I don't suppose a degree in psychiatry includes 'Twilight Zone 101' or remedial 'Outer Limits' in the prerequisites."

"Or even 'Beyond Belief for Dummies'," William snorted.  "They train us to analyze every word that comes out of a patient's mouth, in which case you are in serious trouble, my friend."  He paused, as if considering what he had just been told.  "I do believe you, Gary.  Too much has happened to you in just the short time I've known you to discount some divine influence.  It would certainly help explain how you survived everything you've been through the last couple of years."

"You mean like that fall down my own stairs?" Gary replied with a grimace.  "I've been told that I was going for a record on Near Death Experiences that day _alone_."  

"Or that God awful vacation you went on with the twins and Jake Evans," William nodded.  He paused to take a sip of his drink.  "And let's not forget your restful little trip to our nation's capitol.  Do you still have nightmares about that train ride?"

"Ooo, yeah!" Gary chuckled grimly.  "I may never ride the rails again!  I even get chills riding the El!"

"We'll have to work on that while we're here, if we have the time," William promised his patient, and friend.  "In the meantime, how do you get this fortune telling newspaper?  Does it just . . . appear out of thin air?"

"Not exactly," Gary reluctantly admitted.  "It kinda shows up outside my door every morning, with the cat."

"The cat?  What cat?"

"Mrrowr!"

"That cat."

William's brow crinkled in confusion as he felt a tiny body rub up against his leg.

"How do you know this is _your_ cat?" he asked.  "For all you know, this little guy belongs to someone on this island.  Or it could be some stray off a ship."

The psychiatrist jumped as sharp claws nicked his hand at the same time that the feline let out with a grumbling snort.  If he didn't know better, William could have sworn that he had just been insulted!

Gary chuckled at William's startled yelp.

"Yep.  That's muh boy!"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~**

Marissa stormed out of the third door, slamming it angrily behind her.  How _dare_ he?  How dare Emmett say such things in front of their daughter?  He had practically accused her of hiding behind the Paper to avoid having another child, and to avoid her parental duties to their twelve-year-old daughter!  Apparently, she had missed seeing her little girl hit a homer that had won the state finals in her softball league.  To hear them, it was only the latest of a long string of missed opportunities and disappointments.  The scene had quickly turned ugly as Marissa tried to explain herself, a task made even more difficult by the fact that she had no idea why she had been unable to make it to the game.  Emmett had countered by saying she could have made better use of her time, citing several examples of how _he_ could have done it better.  The child, whose name Marissa had yet to hear, had tried to defuse the situation, saying that she understood, that someone's life was more important than a stupid game, but Emmett was too incensed to listen.  Hearing his little girl belittle her shining moment only served to fan the flames of his ire.

This time, it was Marissa who left first, unable to take another moment of the loud debate.  Pleading a headache, she practically ran from the room, thankful when the mists arose to envelope her.

Now she stood before the fourth door, unsure if she had the courage to open it when the time came.  If the time progression continued at the same pace, then her daughter would be eighteen, a young woman in her own right.  How would she feel towards a mother who had never been there for her as a child, a mother who put the lives and welfare of strangers above the needs of her only child?  Would Emmett still be there, or would the Paper have driven them apart?  

"It's not fair!" Marissa wailed.  "It's not supposed to be like this!  The damned Paper is supposed to be Gary's responsibility, not mine!  Why does he disappear?  Where the hell _is_ he during all this?  Why . . . why would he abandon me?"

"Perhaps he felt that you, of all people, would understand."

Marissa spun around, seeking the source of those softly spoken words.  She quickly spied her enigmatic host sitting at a low table, sipping from a porcelain cup.

"Understand what?" Marissa snapped.  "That dealing with that blasted Paper is hard?  I already knew that!  That it's a wonderful excuse for avoiding commitment?  Believe me, he's demonstrated that on more than one occasion," she added with a derisive snort.  "Or that he's better off without the added responsibility of a wife and child?  If he really believes that, then why does he complain about being so damned lonely?  It's not like he intends to do anything about it!"

Mr. Roarke set his cup aside and arose to his full height, towering over the irate woman.  His face was composed in a neutral expression, but a look of infinite sadness seemed to shine from his dark eyes.

"Is that truly the way you perceive your friend?" he asked her as he stepped closer.  "Do really believe that he is so unreliable, constantly whining about his fate and the unfairness that he cannot have what so many men desperately crave, a home and a family?  Is he truly such a small person in your eyes?"

"I used to think he was a lot better than _this_!" the petite woman grumbled, crossing her arms as she paced angrily about the room.  "How _could_ he be so . . . so _mean_?  He knows that I'd give almost anything to be able to see again, and he throws me this . . . this _bone_ of being able to see for a few days, of looking on the faces of my husband and child, then makes me take the blasted Paper in the bargain!  I thought he was my friend!  I believed in him!"

Mr. Roarke suppressed a sigh as he heard her refer to her friendship with Gary Hobson in the past tense.  He truly hoped the guiding forces behind this ill-conceived fantasy knew what they were doing, or it could cost the young guardian a lot more than his sight.

It could cost him his soul.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**


	2. Lessons In Faith And Love

Dark eyes watched the two sightless men as they strolled about the main compound of the resort.  William most often took the lead with Gary following close behind, his left hand on his teacher's right shoulder.  Occasionally, the older man would stop, asking his student to identify something by sound, shape, or smell.  Gary seemed to be adjusting well as William was usually pleased with his answers, although there were a couple of times where the older man's laughter rang out clear and strong at one mistake or another.

"He's coming along quite well," a cultured voice observed from a point just to his left.  Mr. Roarke did not even have to turn his head to know that one of his 'special clients' had just made an appearance.

"Yes," Mr. Roarke murmured, not taking his eyes from the two cousins, for cousins they had turned out to be.  He had informed the two men of the connection less than an hour before.  It seemed that one of Captain Gary Chandler's youngest daughters had settled in North Carolina and had three sons and two daughters of her own.  The youngest of those was William's mother, Dolly.  "Mr. Hobson is a most remarkable young man.  You have chosen wisely, for once."

The man in the bowler hat turned a raised eyebrow on his companion.  "Is that a rebuke I hear in your voice?" the nameless man queried.

"How many have you lost to the lure of wealth and power?" Mr. Roarke countered.  "Until recently, comparatively speaking, you have confined your 'activities' to only a few major cities throughout the world, Athens, Chicago, London, and Beijing.  Didn't you have someone in Moscow?"

"We had to discontinue that one when the KGB kept arresting them," Bowler Hat replied with a grimace.  "We hope to have better luck with the new regime."  He watched as Gary tried to identify one of the waitresses by the shape of her face.  "I will admit that we have had some colossal failures recently," the man continued.  "A case in point would be that new fellow in Los Angeles.  And the New York contingent has always been so . . . so hierarchal!  That Sam Cooper fellow turned it into a business venture!"  The dark-haired man shook his head sadly.  "We've all but given up on Washington, D.C.  The bloody fools keep running for office!  The Chicago branch, however, has always produced the most dedicated men.  Young Mr. Hobson is a prime example."

"On that I must agree," Mr. Roarke nodded.  "Of course, his record speaks for itself."

"Yes," Bowler Hat murmured as he watched Gary and William try to navigate a narrow bridge spanning a noisy brook.  "He even managed to clean up a couple of messes left by his predecessor.  I know that Lucius Snow tried his best," he hastened to add, forestalling his companion's protest.  "The man simply didn't know when he was in over his head.  And he had this _terrible_ knack for trusting the wrong people, a trait he _thankfully_ outgrew."

"Not before he left young Gary a terrible enemy," Mr. Roarke sighed.  "I hear that Mr. Marley the younger was never found.  Is he truly dead?"

"I am afraid there are limits to our foreknowledge," the nameless gentleman grumbled.  "That young man has completely dropped from our radar."

The two gentlemen, one dressed all in white, the other in black, continued to keep pace with their charges as they talked.

"Does it not bother you," Mr. Roarke asked, "that you continuously ask healthy young men to give up everything, their hopes, and dreams, even their very lives, to keep watch over an ungrateful populace?"

For the first time, Bowler Hat allowed a flicker of emotion to cross his enigmatic features.  A shadowing of regret tinged his voice as he murmured his response.

"Sacrifices must be made if the people of this world are to survive the next two centuries."

"That is true," Mr. Roarke conceded.  "Must his friendship with Mrs. Brown be one of those sacrifices?"

"If she refuses to comprehend the seriousness of his task, and the dedication it requires," Bowler Hat murmured ominously, "then the answer must be an unqualified 'yes.'  We are approaching a critical juncture in both time and probability.  Our young friend has enough pressure as it is.  What he requires is support and understanding.  He does _not_ need well meaning interference and criticism that could undermine his faith and determination.  If that means we must sever _every_ connection he holds to the past, then so be it."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Marissa stepped into what used to be the nursery, and was now a tastefully furnished and decorated bedroom.  A twin bed sat with its headboard in the corner behind the door.  Bracketing the window were a four-drawer chest and a vanity table.  In place of the lacey curtains that she would have chosen were wooden mini blinds that had been dyed blue.  Posters depicting what she assumed were popular movies and music groups decorated the walls, but did not overpower the room.  

The closet door stood open, and a slender young woman stood in front of the full-length mirror.  She gave a final tug on the white cap sitting upon her head, making sure the tassel hung just right.  Her long white robe covered the rest of her slender frame, making her look almost ethereal.

"You look like an angel," Marissa murmured.  Actually, what she had wanted to say was 'You look like a hardware store!'  The young woman wore a row of glittering studs in each ear, an eyebrow ring over her left eye, and a stud in the left side of her nose.  Rings of every description decorated each finger, even the thumbs.  As she reached up to adjust her cap, the long flowing sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos encircling both arms.   

"I look like a dork," the young woman snorted derisively.  "Why do our girls have to wear plain white?  All the other schools use real cool colors.  Jessica Miller is gonna be wearing bright green to her graduation.  And Orrie Mason's gown is electric blue!  It looks _awesome!_"

"I'm sure they won't look any prettier than you do," Marissa insisted.  "You have grown into a _beautiful_ young woman.  I'm so proud of you!"

"Yeah," the girl snorted.  "Right.  Like you've really been there to watch."

The girl's words were like a slap in the face.  Stunned, Marissa was unsure how to react.  She sank down onto the bed as she tried to think of how she should answer.

"Just what do you mean by that?" she finally asked.  "I've always been . . ."

"Really?" her daughter asked, fixing her with a raised eyebrow.  "Where were you when my team went to the state finals?  Or when I brought home the MVP award?  Were you there when I had to break Dwayne Johnson's nose for getting too fresh?  And what about when Dad almost died in that pile-up on the Dan Ryan?  You didn't even warn him!  You were off draggin' some homeless punk out of Lake Michigan.  That's where you were!"  Her voice rose as the hurtful words poured from her mouth.  "You've _always_ put total strangers before your own family!"

"That's not true!"  Marissa tried to defend herself but, as before, she was handicapped by a lack of information.  "I love you and your father!"

"Then why didn't you tell him about the wreck?" the girl shot back.  "How come Uncle Paul is in a wheelchair?  Why didn't you at least keep Uncle Bernie off that plane?  Over two hundred people died _with_ him that day, Mom!"

"You don't understand," Marissa pleaded.  In truth, she didn't understand, either.  How could she have failed so miserably?  Had she actually allowed Bernie Hobson to be killed in a plane crash?  Or had she done something to set events in motion to cause it?  Could that have been what happened to Emmett, too?

"What's to understand?" her daughter sniffed, turning back to glare at her image with a grimace of distaste.  "Family and friends don't mean a thing.  You've gotta be a homeless bum, or some snot nosed brat to get _your_ attention.  One thing I've leaned from you is you gotta look out for yourself.  Not everyone can be lucky enough to make the Paper.  Now, why don't you go out and save the world, Mom.  I gotta figure out some way to jazz up this outfit before all my home girls see me."

Marissa couldn't believe she had been dismissed so abruptly by her own daughter.  She didn't know what to say, how to defend herself.  Had she really made such horrible decisions?  Would Gary have been able to handle those situations better, or would he have been faced with the same choices?  She thought it highly unlikely.  Gary had often told her, and anyone that would listen, that the Paper didn't want him to 'have a life.'  

Perhaps he had been right.

The girl flicked a disdainful glance in her mother's direction.

"Why are you still here?"

Wordlessly, Marissa pushed herself to her feet and fled the room.  Enough was enough.  Hurt, shamed, and angrier than she had ever been in her entire life, Marissa ran through the mist and slammed the door behind her.  She was going to find her so-called 'friend' and tell him exactly what she thought of him, the Paper, and this 'fantasy' he had trapped her in.  

After that, she was on the next plane home, and she would never have to see or speak to Gary Hobson for the rest of her life.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It happened so fast, Gary was never sure exactly how it occurred.  One minute he and William were sitting on the patio, enjoying a refreshing drink after their walk, the next he was on the ground, listening in total confusion as Marissa spat words at him that he had never expected to come from her mouth!  

"You manipulative, cold-hearted son of a _bitch!_" the tempestuous woman snapped.  "How could you do that to me?  I thought we were friends!  I thought we had something really special between us, and then you go and do something like this!  How could you be so cruel as to use my biggest hope, my _dream_ against me like this?"

After that, she _really_ let him have it.  Gary tried to pick himself up, only to flinch back as her voice was suddenly coming from just inches away.  He brought his left arm up reflexively, expecting to ward off physical blows next.  As if they could hurt any worse than the barrage of words she was unleashing on him.  All he could do was cower at her feet as she described, in detail, exactly what she had experienced over the last four hours.  Confused, Gary attempted to defend himself, to tell her that was most definitely _not_ the fantasy that he had requested for her!  He tried to tell his best friend that he had only wanted to give her the chance to actually _see_ the family that she loved, but Marissa was in no mood to listen to anything _he_ had to say.  

William tried to step in and calm her down, but the petite woman was beyond reason.  In no uncertain words, she told him it was none of his damned business and to stay out of it.  She then let Gary have another verbal barrage.

Marissa was so angry, so humiliated by the last scene with her daughter, by the time she finally located her former friend and partner as she had begun to think of Gary, she was beyond reason.  Just the sight of him, sitting there in his brightly patterned Hawaiian shirt next to some guy, sipping on a tropical drink was enough to set her off.  Later, she would not even recall slapping him so hard that she knocked him from his chair or the stunned look on his face as she listed every grievance in glowing, vitriolic detail.  Some small part of her did recall, with smug satisfaction, the way he flinched from every verbal barb with which she skewered him.  Another part, the quiet, sane part that still believed in Gary, felt shame, and remorse at the pain she could see in his far too expressive face.  He stared off to one side, as if afraid to meet her stormy gaze, while his face reflected equal measures of shock, confusion, and regret.  But Marissa was far too angry to recognize these signs.  

When Gary's companion tried to interfere, Marissa almost bit his head off, telling him to back off without so much as a glance at him.  It was a good ten minutes before she felt that she had sufficiently vented all her grievances.  After his first abortive attempts to get up, Gary had not moved, choosing to stay put and endure her wrath until it was spent.  Even now, when her ire had run its course, he made no move to either stand, or even look at her.  He just lay there on one side, looking lost and defeated.

A tiny voice in the back of Marissa's mind tried to tell her that she had been too hasty, that Gary must have some kind of explanation for all of this.  But that voice of reason was drowned out by overwhelming bitterness and anger.

"Well?" she finally demanded.  "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?  I didn't think so," she added as Gary mutely shook his head.  "You don't even have the guts to look at me, you worm!  Well, you just stay on your little island paradise for as long as you want.  I'll be on the next plane out of here.  And when I get back, I'm signing my share of McGinty's back over to you.  I never want to see, or speak, or even hear your name for the rest of my life, Gary Hobson!  Good-bye!"

Having said that, the tiny woman turned and sprinted back in the direction of her bungalow.  Blinded by her rage, she almost ran over Mr. Roarke and a sharply dressed man wearing a bowler hat.  Some part of her mind wondered why he was wearing that silly hat on such a nice day, but she was more concerned with her own affairs.

"Excuse me," she grumbled as she stepped around the two men.  "I have to pack."

"Are you leaving us so soon, Mrs. Brown?" Mr. Roarke asked in concern.  "You have only just arrived."

"I've had about as much 'fun' as I can stomach!" Marissa snapped, not caring how rude she sounded.  She never even slowed her stride as she hurried on her way.  "And I doubt I'll ever be back for more!"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"This is _not_ good," the gentleman in the bowler hat murmured.  His piercing gaze never left the retreating woman's back.  "She cannot be allowed to leave until the process has been reversed.  Otherwise, her future will play out exactly as she has just seen."

"I can stop her from leaving," Mr. Roarke assured him.  "But I cannot guarantee that we can bring the two of them together in time.  A great deal will depend on . . ."

"Gary!"

Both men turned at the sound of that panicked voice to find William groping blindly around the overturned table and chair, calling frantically for his friend and pupil.  Gary was nowhere in sight.

"Damn it all!" Bowler Hat hissed angrily, his normally inscrutable features betraying his uncharacteristic ire.  "This is all going to Hell in the proverbial hand basket!  The man is blind!  How could he have disappeared so quickly?"

Mr. Roarke favored the man with a contemptuous scowl.  "I tried to warn you that something like this might occur," he reminded his client in a flat, cold voice.  "You have chosen a most remarkable, and resourceful young man in Mr. Hobson.  He has never let such minor inconveniences stop him in the past.  Why should this surprise you?  In less than a day, you and I have destroyed a friendship that has lasted almost a decade.  Does it truly surprise you that the man is so distraught as to be incapable of rational thought?  He only seeks to flee and lick his wounds in private, wounds that you and I inflicted."

"We can affix blame for this debacle another time," Bowler Hat growled as he strode briskly toward the main compound.  "You must stop that woman from leaving with his sight, while I must set about finding our wayward lad."

"He is not a 'lad,'" Mr. Roarke murmured angrily as he followed in Marissa's wake.  "He is a man, and deserves to be treated as one.  Preferably while he is still alive to appreciate it."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Mr. Roarke entered the tiny bungalow to find Marissa angrily slamming things into the single suitcase she had brought.  She flicked a glance his way without slowing her pace.

"Don't try to stop me," she grumbled.  "I won't stay here one minute longer than I have to.  I never should have agreed to this . . . this disaster in the first place."

"I have no intention of stopping you," Mr. Roarke grimly informed her.  "This is not a prison.  You are free to come and go as you please.  I simply felt you should be made aware of the cost."

Puzzled, Marissa paused to glare suspiciously at her host.  "Cost?" she asked.  "What cost?  Do I have to pay for my own ticket home?"

"Nothing so mundane," Mr. Roarke assured her.  "How is it, do you think, that we were able to restore your sight so easily, when all normal attempts had failed?  Where do you think this remarkable gift came from?"

Feeling as if she were being set up, Marissa returned his steady gaze with barely suppressed hostility.

"I assume those eye drops had something to do with it," she replied levelly.

"That was merely the catalyst," Mr. Roarke returned with a shake of his head.  "The process you underwent required a . . . donor of sorts."

That stopped her.  Who in their right mind would volunteer for something so . . .?

"Gary?" Marissa asked in a small voice.  "He . . . he gave up his sight for me?  Why?  Just the idea of . . . He was _terrified_ the last time . . . Wh-why would he put himself through that just to teach me to mind my own business?"

Mr. Roarke shook his head with a weary sigh.  "How on earth can you see so clearly, yet still be so blind?" he asked in frustration.  "The fantasy you have had thus far was _not_ the one he requested!  His was much more elegant in its simplicity, a true gift from the heart." He held out his hand to her as he turned for the door.  "Come with me."

Marissa looked at his hand, uncertainty written all over her face, than glanced at her open suitcase.

"If you still wish to leave after what I will show you," Mr. Roarke promised her, "then I will do nothing to stop you.  Please."  
  


Hesitantly, sure that she was making a big mistake, Marissa placed her hand in his.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

They returned to the room with the single chair and table, and many doors.  Without preamble, Mr. Roarke led her to the last door. 

"If everything had progressed as Mr. Hobson wished," he told her, "this portal would have led you to another nursery.  In there, you would have been reunited with your husband and daughter, your mother, and your first grandchild.  There would have been no dissension, no recrimination for failed rescues, only joy in the welcoming of a new life.  At no point did your Mr. Hobson intend that you be punished for past sins or 'taught a lesson' by any definition of the word.  His only motive was a celebration, and reward for being his friend for eight long years."

Marissa wasn't convinced . . . yet, but she was beginning to waver.  She waved a hand at the four doors through which she had already passed. "What about . . .?"

"_That_ was brought about by the machinations of others," Mr. Roarke sighed, his voice tinged with regret.  "Tell me, Mrs. Brown, do you recall the significance of this day?  Of this _date_?"  He sighed again as Marissa shook her head, genuinely puzzled at his question.  "Eight years ago tonight, you had dinner with a young man who, quite charmingly, inserted his foot firmly into his mouth.  In his own clumsy manner, he attempted to start a friendship with the one person who would not judge him primarily by his looks.  It was a relationship based solely upon faith, and trust.  Mr. Hobson has treasured that moment all of these years."

"I had no idea," Marissa murmured, shaken out of her self-righteous anger.  "I mean, I remember the dinner.  He was so nervous at first.  I just never considered it to be all that special."

"It was to him," Mr. Roarke assured her.  "His fantasy was that you be given at least one day, preferably two, in which to store up memories for a lifetime!  It was his gift to you, to thank you for eight years of loyalty and support through some _very_ trying times."

Marissa's gaze swept over the first set of doors, her puzzlement increasing ten-fold.  "Then what went wrong?  Where does he disappear to, and why?  How do I end up with his responsibilities?  If I'd known that was going to happen, I'd never . . ."  Her voice trailed off as realization hit her like a kick in the teeth.  "I'd never have married Emmett."

"The 'powers,' if you will, behind your mysterious periodical have been most unhappy with the way you, and others, have pushed him to begin a family of his own," Mr. Roarke told her, his mouth set in a grim line.  "It was they who placed the advertisement so that Mr. Hobson could not fail to see it, knowing exactly how he would react to it."

"That tells me who," Marissa grumbled bitterly, unwilling to let go of her anger just yet.  "Now tell me why.  And what's Gary part in this?  Is he planning to 'drop out' again?  Maybe he's found a nice little island he likes, and a 'honey' to share it with."

The look Mr. Roarke gave her would have given an active volcano goose bumps.  

"Mr. Hobson's devotion to you and his family has been put to the question on many, many occasions, yet, what of your devotion to him?  At first, you were his staunchest supporter, but all of that has changed ever since he began to receive tomorrow's Paper.  You, all of you who are aware of it, seem to hold him to a much higher standard.  The man simply cannot perform to your satisfaction!  Not only must he pull miracles from his hat on a daily basis, but you expect him to also find time to start, and maintain a family!  Also, you and others become upset, even angry, if he does not make time for 'little favors,' or does try to squeeze in a few moments for his own needs.  This," he added, waving a hand to encompass the entire room, "was a test of sorts.  It was intended to give you a small sample of all that could go wrong if his attention were to be diverted by familial responsibilities or guilt over putting his family and friends before others.  The results were somewhat . . . depressing."

"Well I'm _sorry_!" Marissa snapped, hugging herself tightly as she paced about the room.  "I'm not Gary, and I doubt I ever will be!  There's no reason I'd have to be, either.  I mean, this is his responsibility.  He's told me that often enough.  Why would he suddenly dump all of this on me just as I'm starting a family of my own?  He gave me away at my wedding, for Pete's sake!  Oh, God!  This is so . . . I need time," she sighed.  "Time to figure this all out, time to cool off so I don't say anything to make things worse, time . . ."

"Time is the one commodity of which we are in extremely short supply."

She turned on one heel, expecting to find Mr. Roarke where she had left him.  Instead, her mysterious host had moved to stand in front of the first door she had entered that morning.  Now, however, instead of the ornate wooden panels that she recalled, it was a smooth, blank slab of gray.  

"You asked where your friend will be if events unfold as per your . . . experience," he reminded her.  "Come with me and I will show you."

A cold chill ran up and down Marissa's spine as she stared at that featureless panel.  Suddenly, she wasn't so sure that she wanted to know what lay beyond.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Gary had no idea where he was heading, if he was even going uphill or down.  It didn't matter.  All he could think about was getting away.  Away from the most colossal failure of his life, and the loss of the best friend he had ever had.  Even Chuck, as irritating and manipulative as he could be, had left with their friendship intact.  This time, he would be lucky if Marissa would cross the street just to spit on him!  'What happened?' he wondered dismally.  'How did everything go so wrong?'

Because it was _his_ fantasy, a little voice told him.  Once again, he had stuck his nose where it didn't belong and now he was paying for it.  Was he happy, now?

"Hell, no," Gary grunted as he tripped over some unseen obstacle, landing forcefully on his left hand.  He bit back a curse as pain lanced up his arm.  He didn't think he would ever be happy again.  "Serves me right," he hissed, cradling his injured wrist close to his chest.  "With my luck, it's probably broken, just like everything else I touch."

Struggling to his feet, Gary realized that he had been going uphill.  Concentrating, he tried to recall the type of terrain he had just covered in his senseless flight.  He couldn't.  He had no idea whether he had turned right or left when leaving the patio; or if he had gone straight ahead.  Time had ceased to have any meaning during his headlong plunge through the darkness, he had no idea how long he had been running!  

Gary sank back to the ground with a moan of despair.  He had really done it this time.  He was totally, hopelessly lost. 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

William had not felt this helpless since he had first awakened to find that his whole world had been plunged into eternal darkness.  Gary Hobson, his patient and his friend, had fled the scene of his most recent humiliation without uttering a word.  Somehow, he had managed to slip away silently enough that even William's sharp ears could not tell which direction he had gone.  Panicked, William Griner had flailed randomly about with his cane, hoping the younger man was simply being quiet, nursing his wounds in a cocoon of silence.  His hopes were quickly dashed as he covered the entire patio without encountering anything more than the table and chair that Gary had knocked over when Marissa slugged him.  

That had been one of the most humiliating scenes that William had ever been witness to.  He had been forced to sit by helplessly as Gary was picked apart by the one person whom he had trusted without reservation.  Every time he had tried to come to the younger man's defense, Marissa had bluntly slapped him down.  For a church-going woman, she had an incredible vocabulary!

William's head jerked to one side as his sensitive ears caught a faint sound, a shod foot scraping on the brick patio.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"A friend," a richly cultured voice replied.  "You look as if you need assistance."

"I do," William almost sobbed with relief.  At last, someone with eyes!  "My friend, a young man who looks a lot like me.  Do you see him anywhere?  He might be hurt."

"You and I are the only ones here, at present," the cool voice replied.  "Are you positive that he is injured?"

"N-no," William admitted.  "Not really.  I know that someone hit him and knocked him to the ground, but I don't know how hard he hit, or if he hurt himself on the way down.  The person that hit him made so much noise when she left, I couldn't hear him leave.  Please!  Please help me find him.  He cain't see, and with the state of mind he's in, he may not be payin' much attention to where he's goin'."

Bowler Hat noticed that William Griner's southern accent grew stronger in proportion to his emotional distress.  The man would soon be incoherent.

"Mrrrowwr!"

The dark-suited gentleman looked down at the orange cat sitting at his feet. The canny feline stared back, matching him stare for stare.

"Well," Bowler Hat snorted.  "Don't just sit there!  Go find him!"

With a dainty sneeze, the orange tabby leapt to his feet and took off.  Reaching to place William's hand on his shoulder, Bowler Hat attempted to explain what was going on.  He was quick to realize that, in his current condition, Gary would respond more favorably to the therapist's voice than to his less familiar one.

"Our feline friend seems to have caught his scent," he murmured.  "Tally ho!"

Puzzled, William allowed himself to be led in pursuit of the cat who, hopefully, would lead him to Gary.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

There was no mist this time, no sense of being 'somewhere else' for even a split second.  Marissa knew that what she was about to see was not something that _might_ happen, but something that most certainly _would,_ unless she managed to change things.  

A single table stood in the center of the room, a sheet covering what could only be a human body.

She stared at the scene before her, and the chill she had felt earlier turned into an artic blizzard.  Marissa had never been inside a place like this before, but she had been to her father's funeral.  Beneath the smell of incense and floral bouquets, she would never forget the underlying smell of death.  She smelled it again, in this room, only there were no flowers to mask, or even soften that stench.  They were standing in a morgue.

"I do not know if he _intends_ to hurt himself," Mr. Roarke murmured from right next to her, causing her to jump slightly.  So focused had Marissa been on that grim tableau, she had forgotten his presence entirely.  "Perhaps it will be accidental.  Whatever the cause, his body will not wash up on a neighboring island for several days.  They will try to ascertain his identity but, in the end, he will be given a pauper's grave.  A most dismal end for such a brave man."

"A-are you sure it's him?" Marissa asked in a small voice.  "There's no . . . no chance he might . . . might just be . . . lost?"

"I can see that there is only one way to convince you," Mr. Roarke sighed.  Reaching out, he slowly drew the sheet down to reveal a bruised, battered face that was barely recognizable as a human male.  In spots, the flesh had been stripped almost to the bone. 

Even with all the damage, there was enough left of the face that Marissa had touched so many times, yet had only looked upon twice, for her to recognize him beyond any doubt.  One hand came up to cover her mouth, as if to stifle the sobs that threatened to choke her, while the other hovered mere inches from that tattered flesh.  The need to touch him, to be certain that what she was seeing was real pulled her toward that still figure.  At the same time, she feared that touching him would _make_ it real, sealing Gary's fate.  Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled all the hurtful words she had flung at him, not even giving him a chance to speak up in his own defense.

"We have to find him," she whispered.  "I can't let this happen!"  She turned frightened, mud green eyes toward her only source of hope.  "Please!  Help me?"

To her surprise, Mr. Roarke let out a loud sigh of relief and favored her with a smile of gratitude.

"It will be my pleasure, Mrs. Brown," he told her, once more taking her by the arm.  "Come.  It is growing dark and we must move quickly.  Time is most definitely _not_ on our side."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Gary couldn't understand it.  Every path he took seemed to lead uphill.  Even trying to follow his back trail had proved fruitless.  No matter how many times he turned back, the result was always the same.  It was as if every downward trail had disappeared.  Was he simply missing the turnoff, or had he managed to stray from the known paths entirely?  Had he managed to find some little used game trail?  Without even a glimmer of sight to rely on, Gary had no way of knowing.  The jungle foliage had grown so thick; he no longer had even the warmth of the sun to guide him.  The gentle breeze, filtering through and around the trees and undergrowth, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.  The only reference that he could depend on was the feel of the ground beneath his sandaled feet.  

Nothing felt right, or even smelled right.  Gary couldn't put his finger on just what it was that actually felt or smelled _wrong_, only that it did.  Exhausted, he sank to the spongy ground with a sigh that bordered on a whimper.  His left arm throbbed with every beat of his heart, not helping his concentration at all.  Gary was hot, tired, hungry, angry, and depressed.  He felt like the biggest failure on the face of the entire planet.  Not only had he lost his best friend, he had managed to lose himself!  'How much brains did that take?' he asked himself derisively.  'I can't believe I just ran off like that!  Now no one knows where I am, not even me!'

After a few minutes to catch his breath, Gary laboriously pushed himself to his feet.  He stood there a moment, probing the lie of the ground with one foot.  He had lost his cane some time after the first time he had fallen and had yet to find a suitable replacement. 

After a moment, Gary tried once more to make his way back toward the main compound, doing his best to keep going in a straight line.  When he came to a turn, Gary tried to push on through the dense underbrush, only to find himself knee deep in a bog of some kind.  Struggling back to the trail, Gary managed to grope his way along until he felt the ground start to rise again.  

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled.  "Not every freakin' path can go uphill both ways!"  

His questing foot finally found a branch that led in the direction he wanted to go.  With a heartfelt prayer of gratitude, Gary quickened his pace, thinking that he would soon be back on level ground.  His relief was short-lived, however.  Less than a hundred paces found him climbing once more.

"I stand corrected," Gary sighed, as he turned to retrace his steps for the hundredth time.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~**

Bowler Hat didn't think it was possible.  It had certainly never happened before, at least not in his memory.  A 'messenger' _always_ knew the exact location of his assigned Guardian!  Never had he known one to meander back and forth in such obvious confusion!

"He's lost the bloody trail," he growled in disbelief as Mr. Roarke and Marissa emerged from the bright red 'shuttle' car.  

"That's impossible!" Marissa exclaimed.  "Cat has found Gary in floods, blizzards, and over incredible distances!  How can it lose him on an island?"

"I don't know!" the nameless man grumbled, enunciating each word with exaggerated care.  He waved his hand at the impenetrable green wall before them.  "The scent seems to have led us to this . . . impasse."

Mr. Roarke stared at the dense foliage, his eyes narrowing as he opened his preternatural senses.

"There are other forces at work here," he murmured.  He looked down at the agitated feline, their eyes meeting.  The cat froze, one paw upraised as his emerald gaze held Mr. Roarke's in silent communication.   They stood that way for what seemed a small eternity before the orange tabby abruptly turned and vanished into the undergrowth.  Just as swiftly, Mr. Roarke was facing Marissa, one hand on each slender shoulder as he looked deeply within her eyes.

"It will soon be too dark to search by . . . mundane means," Mr. Roarke murmured grimly.  "We are forced to rely on the unique bond the two of you share."

"I-I don't know what you mean," Marissa replied uncertainly.  "How can there be _anything_ between us after all the horrible things I said to him?"

Mr. Roarke shook his head with a rueful smile.  "Do you seriously think that what the two of you have can be shattered by a few harsh words?"

"A _few_!" William snorted, unaffected by the stern looks of the other men.  "She carved him up like a Christmas turkey!"

For the first time, Marissa took a good look at the man she had only glimpsed earlier.  She bit back a sharp retort, startled by the uncanny resemblance between him and her missing friend.

"Just who are you, and why do you look so much like Gary?" she asked.

"We don't have _time_ for pointless chitchat," the man in the bowler hat practically snarled.  "Your young friend could be in serious trouble!"

"I am afraid you are more correct than even you can imagine," Mr. Roarke nodded, his piercing gaze once more locking onto Marissa's borrowed eyes.  "The bond of which I speak goes much deeper than mere friendship.  There are no words to describe, no yardstick by which to measure the depth of that bond.  Even when you could not see, you could always feel him, in here," he explained, placing one hand over Marissa's heart.  "Even when others have given him up for lost, you have held true in your faith.  You feel his joy, and his pain.  Use that bond now.  Use it to help us find him."

"I-I don't know how," Marissa whimpered.  "I want to, believe me, I want to so bad!  I just . . . I've never tried anything like that before!"

"Stop looking with your eyes," William suggested.  "Try feeling with your heart."

"He's right," Bowler Hat nodded.  "Close your eyes and search within yourself.  Try to feel that connection and see where it leads you."

Hesitantly, unable to meet their hopeful stares any longer, Marissa closed her eyes.  Letting the familiar darkness enfold her like an old friend, she let her mind drift.  It was there, she could almost feel it, that tiny little spark that she knew was Gary.  She tried to focus on it, only to feel it slip away as if it had dodged behind a thick curtain.  She tried again, hoping to get a sense of how far away he might be.  To her disappointment, all she got was an overwhelming feeling of frustration, and pain.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, waving a hand toward the jungle.  "All I can say is that he's going up when he wants to go down.  And he's hurting.  I think he must've fallen or something.  I can't even tell you how badly he's hurt, only that he's still able to walk."

Mr. Roarke merely nodded, unable to hide his disappointment.  Gary Hobson was most likely hiding behind a wall of pain, his fragile ego still reeling from the battering it had received at the hands of his most trusted friend.  

"Blast it all!" Bowler Hat grumbled irritably.  "Well, there's nothing for it but to try and find a trail leading upwards.  Sooner or later, young Mr. Hobson will run out of hill to climb."

"You had best hope it is soon," Mr. Roarke reminded him.  "We have only until sunrise the day after tomorrow before the process is irreversible.  Nor must we forget the natural dangers inherent in such terrain as this," he added with a wave of his hand toward the jungle. 

"You said something about 'other forces' at work here," William spoke up, keeping one hand on his guide.  "What were you talking about?"

"Things beyond either ken or control," Bowler Hat sighed, having also felt that other presence.  He glared at the setting sun as if he would stop it in its track by will alone, if that were possible.  Unfortunately, some things remained beyond his abilities.  "We can't search in the dark, blast the luck."

"I can," William replied evenly.  "Dark or light makes no never mind to me."

"Or me," Marissa reminded them.  "I was blind most of my life.  I can close my eyes and get around just fine."

"And where will you 'get around' to?" Bowler Hat queried, fixing her with a raised eyebrow.  "In which direction did our elusive quarry disappear?  You say he's going upwards.  How far has he traveled?  What lies in-between?  Can you answer that?  Without lights, or even a compass heading, how do you hope to find him when even he doesn't know where he is?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It was finally a drizzling rain that convinced Gary to seek some type of shelter.  Soaked to the skin, he wedged himself into a hollow created by a fallen tree, huddling in on himself in an effort to conserve body heat.  It was far from the softest bed he had ever slept in; still it beat risking pneumonia or stumbling blindly over the wet terrain.   

'Maybe I should just stay put,' he reasoned.  'Someone's bound to be looking for me by now.  But what then?  How do I face Marissa after what I've done to her?  How can I ever convince her that this wasn't what I'd planned?  Will she even speak to me?  Hell, I wouldn't blame her if she hated me the rest of her life!'  "God, what a mess I've made of things," he moaned aloud.  

As the cool rain continued to drench the tropical flora, Gary settled in for a miserable night.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Marissa stood by the window in Mr. Roarke's office, staring out at the pouring rain as she hugged herself tightly.  In the last hour, it had worsened from a light drizzle to a full downpour, trailing down the windowpanes in thick runnels.  Gary was out there, she reminded herself, all alone, cold, wet and frightened.  And it was all her fault.  

"He's survived worse than this," she reminded herself.  "When Savalas framed him for murder, and half of Chicago was looking for him, Gary made it through one of the coldest nights I can remember."

"That was when he still had a friend who believed in him," William murmured, having heard all the grim details during many a therapy session.  

"He still does," Marissa replied, stung by the implied rebuke.

"He doesn't know that," the therapist pointed out.  "He thinks you still hate him for something that wasn't even his fault."

"I had no way of knowing that," Marissa murmured, trying to defend her actions.  "How was I supposed to know what he had in mind?  H-he never said a word about this being some kind of . . . of anniversary!"

"Did he have to?" William asked, trying to keep his voice even, to avoid sounding accusatory.  "Where was your faith in him?  Why does he have to explain everything he does, answer for every move he makes?  Aren't enough people questioning his motives as it is?  The authorities, the press, they all have him under a microscope.  He has family and friends making demands on time he isn't certain he can give.  Yet he took the time, made the sacrifice, to give you the fantasy of a lifetime, and you honestly believe he did it just to get you to back off?"

_"I didn't know!"_ Marissa snapped, her voice cracking with the depth of her despair.  "He never said anything except . . . except that he wanted me to see, if just for a little while."  She paused to wipe at the tear she felt trickling down her cheek.  "Gary's the warmest, kindest, most gentle man I've ever known, before I met Emmett.  But he's also been under a lot of strain lately.  I've begun to . . . to wonder if . . ."

"You've been thinkin' that the job was gettin' to him," William nodded in understanding.  "Has he been showin' any recent changes in his behavior towards you, or anyone else?"

"Not really," Marissa had to admit.  "He just seems so . . . tense.  As if he never really has a chance to . . . to unwind."

"Understandable, wouldn't you say?" Bowler Hat murmured from his place by the mantle.  "Even his vacations are steeped in disaster."

"Enough," Mr. Roarke insisted.  Gently taking Marissa by the arm, he led her to the sofa.  "We should all get some rest.  As soon as it is light, we must be prepared to resume our search.  I am certain we will have better luck tomorrow."

"I hope so," Marissa sighed.  "I have some _major_ apologizing to do."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Gary finally gave up on getting any sleep when the drizzle threatened to turn into a tropical storm.  His scant shelter wasn't enough to keep him dry, in fact it was about to be washed away!  He reluctantly abandoned it to seek something a little more substantial, but had no idea how he was supposed to accomplish such a miracle.  He couldn't see, the rain and thunder drowned out any other more subtle noises, and he doubted that he could smell a convenient hut or shack.  An outhouse, on the other hand . . . nah, he wasn't _that_ desperate.  Yet. 

By the time the drenching rain let up, Gary was beyond miserable.  Even the most fragrant outhouse was beginning to sound good.  He just wanted to find somewhere dry and warm, although he would settle on just dry.  He had already fallen several more times, his left arm felt swollen to more than twice its size and he could barely feel his hand anymore.  His wet clothes clung to his skin, chilling him to the bone in the early morning air.  If there was any part of his body that didn't ache, it was only because he was too exhausted to feel it.

Gary forced himself to keep going, following the path of least resistance through the lush foliage.  Continuous movement depleted his meager reserves of energy, but also produced heat, which his chilled body needed to fight off hypothermia.  Once the sun rose and the air warmed up, he could find somewhere to rest.  Until then, he had to keep moving.

A stray root proved his undoing.  Already stumbling from exhaustion, Gary was unable to catch himself before again falling on his injured wrist.  Curling around his ill-treated appendage, Gary could only manage a mewling whimper, too spent to scream.  He was so tired!  All he wanted to do was rest, just for a few minutes.

"My, my," a soft voice drawled.  "Aren't you a sorry sight?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"Just who the hell _are_ you?" Marissa asked, repeating the question that Bowler Hat had diverted before.  "Where do you fit into all of this?"

William tried to stretch the kinks out of his back and legs with a muffled groan before deigning to answer.  As it turned out, none of them had been able to sleep that night.  Not that he was sure that Mr. Roarke and the gentleman with the cultured British accent even needed sleep, but he and Marissa had alternated sitting and pacing for the last few hours.

"I'm Gary's therapist," he finally replied.  "Dr. William Griner, at your service," he added, extending a hand in her direction.

A thoughtful frown tugged at Marissa's mahogany features as the name stirred long buried memories.

"I used to know a William Griner," she mused, absently shaking William's hand.  "He was an assistant teacher at the school for the blind I attended when I was a child.  Did you . . . did you ever work at St. Anthony's?"

"For a couple of years," William admitted.  "To supplement my GI Bill.  Your maiden name wouldn't be Clark, would it?"

"Yes," Marissa murmured, taking a seat next to her old friend.  "So you do remember!"

"How could I forget the little girl that kept me on my toes for two years?" the therapist chuckled.  "I couldn't slip a thing by you.  You caught every mistake I made, and called me on each one.  I learned almost as much from you as you did from me."  He reached up to stroke her face.  Marissa leaned into that touch, giving him silent permission to relearn her features.  "You've grown into a beautiful woman."

"Outwardly, perhaps," Marissa sighed, leaning back against the sofa.  "What I did to Gary wasn't very pretty, was it?"

"You were hurting," William told her.  "You needed someone to blame for your anguish and Gary was handy.  By now, he probably realizes this and is trying to come up with a way to apologize."

"But he wasn't at fault!" Marissa cried, leaping from her seat to pace angrily in front of the fireplace.  "_I_ was the one who knocked him silly, then called him every vile name I could think of!  He just . . . just lay there and took it!  I didn't even notice that he was blind!"

"You had no _way_ of knowing," Mr. Roarke reminded her.  "You have only been sighted for less than a day.  Many things have most likely escaped your notice."  He gazed out at the lightening horizon.  "It will be dawn soon," he murmured.  "We must hurry."

"You're right," Marissa sighed, turning for the door. "I don't want . . ."  She stopped with a loud gasp, a stunned look crossing her finely sculpted features.

"What is it?" Bowler Hat asked, stepping to her side.  "What's wrong?"

"Gary!" Marissa gasped, her eyes wide with shock.  "He's . . . I-I think he's dying!"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

A chill ran down Gary's spine that had nothing to do with the freezing rain as he scrambled awkwardly to his feet.  Part of his mind was dimly aware that he had lost his sandals at some point during his flight.  That, and the fact that he could barely feel his feet, caused him less distress than the fact that he recognized that soft, sultry voice.  He didn't know her name, or if she even had one, but he knew that her presence meant that he was in serious trouble.

A flickering image of a glowing apparition touched his mind and he knew that to be her doing.  She wanted to leave him no doubt that this was the same . . . being who had all but condemned him to Hell for not allowing the train carrying Vice President John Hoyne to collide with an express coming from the opposite direction.  Gary had saved hundreds of lives that day and almost lost his own in the process.  He could still recall her sibilant tones threatening and cajoling as she delivered her dire prophesies.  She made it very clear that his immortal soul was on the line if he did not do as he was told.

He had told her that he would see her in Hell first.

Standing there on his bare, half-frozen feet, his injured arm throbbing in agony, and trembling more from fear than the cold, Gary figured that he had called that one pretty close.

"Not even gonna say 'Hello', Sugah?" that glowing image purred.  

"Wh-who are you?" Gary asked in a hoarse whisper.  "What do you want with me?"

"Oh my!  Where _are_ my manners?  Everything that we've been through, and I've nevah so much as introduced myself!"  

Gary flinched as something softly caressed his cheek.  He knew that, even with the rain and the normal sounds of an awakening jungle, he should be able to hear her footsteps or the rustle of fabric as she moved.  Even in the brief time that he had been sightless, Gary had noticed that he could usually feel when another person was present.

He felt nothing from her.

"They call me Kathleen," her soft voice whispered into his ear, causing Gary to jump.  Her voice sounded as if her mouth was practically touching him, yet no breath of air brushed his overly sensitized flesh.  "What I want, Sugah, is for you to die."

"Wh-why?" Gary stammered, truly puzzled by this apparent animosity from a total stranger. "What'd I ever do to you?"  He tried not to cringe as what felt like fingertips trailed down the side of his neck, following his hairline along the nape until they had traced their way around and up to his other ear.  This mysterious creature was toying with him, he realized, playing cat to his timid little mouse.  'Not a cat,' he quickly amended.  'A snake.  She's the snake and I'm the rat that's about to be swallowed whole.'

"Do to me?" Kathleen chuckled.  "Why nothin', darlin'.  This isn't personal, at all.  I'm just followin' orders.  You see, there is a certain . . . power broker, shall we say . . . who needs specific things to happen a specific way.  You keep messin' up his plans."

"H-how?" Gary whispered, trying to keep this bizarre conversation going.  He hoped to stall her until help might arrive, however long that took.  "Wh-what is it that he wants t-to happen?"

Those fingers were trailing across his throat now, tracing a line down to the top button of his shirt in what would have been a seductive tease under other circumstances.  It was all Gary could do to hold still as she began to undo the top button.  It unnerved him that he had yet to feel a sense of her presence, that he still wasn't convinced that she was truly _there!_

"I don't think we need to go into that," Kathleen purred, her soft lips brushing his throat.  

Gary almost lost it that time.  She was so close!  He could feel her hands on his shirt, loosening the buttons, feel her lips as they planted a tender kiss just below the angle of his jaw, but he could not feel _her_, and _that_ was scaring him to death!  

"S-so you're . . . what, gonna push me off a cliff or s-something?" Gary murmured nervously.  His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure that she could hear it.  If he could see, Gary would have been flying down the side of that mountain, shoes or no shoes!

"Nothin' so crude," the dark angel crooned softly.  "I'm just gonna lead you to this _lovely_ little spot I know where the view is absolutely breathtaking, and you're gonna jump."

"One of us is crazy," Gary murmured, trying to lean away from that cajoling voice.  "But it sure as Hell ain't me!  No way am I taking one step with you!"

A sudden blast of frigid air knocked Gary from his feet, rolling him through the dense underbrush until his chest slammed against the trunk of a tree.  Dazed, it was a moment before he could convince his aching lungs that breathing was still a required function.  A soft hand cupped his cheek, causing him to flinch with a strangled gasp.  The smoky, almost sensual purr that whispered into his ear belied the sinister words.

"Did I say you had a choice?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"You never told me," Marissa murmured as she helped lead William through the dense foliage.  "Why do you look so much like Gary?  Are you two related?"

William bit back a grim retort, knowing that the young woman was afraid to think of what they might find at the end of their trek.  She was just making idle conversation to distract her mind from the same disturbing images that haunted his.

"It seems that we're cousins a couple of generations removed," he replied, huffing a little from the rapid uphill climb.  It was more difficult for him as he was forced to rely on the others for guidance.  "Mr. Roarke was k-kind enough to help us fill in . . . the missin' pieces," he grunted.  

"_Another_ cousin?" Marissa sighed in exasperation.  "When we get back, I'm going to have to see about renting a bigger hall."

"Do you think we might have this little _tete-a-tete_ later?" Bowler hat grumbled as he helped William navigate around a boggy patch.  "In case you two have forgotten, we're in a bit of a rush."  He cast a rueful glance at their guide.  The orange tabby was flitting in and out among the trees like an impatient Will-o'-the-wisp.  The canny feline would pause briefly to allow the plodding humans to catch up, then take off again, leaving them to follow as best they could.  "I do believe the little blighter is becoming a tad snippy with us."

Leaving William in Marissa's capable hands, Bowler Hat quickened his pace to catch up with Mr. Roarke.

"Why did you insist on allowing our sightless friend to join us?" he grumbled softly, not wanting his words to reach the ears of the other two.  "I can understand the girl due to the fact that we may need to affect the transference as quickly as possible, but that young gentleman is slowing us down!"

Mr. Roarke tried to hide his smile at hearing a man of over fifty years being referred to as 'young.'   

"This play has yet to reach its conclusion," Mr. Roarke murmured mysteriously.  "Before the final scene is written Dr. Griner may yet prove a most valuable ally."  He looked eastward, where the first rays of the rising sun were painting silvery swathes on the distant mountaintops.  "Let us just pray that Gary Hobson is able to hold fast against any miscues by our devilish director."

"Indeed," Bowler Hat sighed, casting a glance backwards to see Marissa guiding William around a thick clump of bushes.  "Curtain calls can be a bit tricky when you're dead."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Agony burned through Gary's chest as he forced his lungs to expand taking in precious, life sustaining air.  It was a moment before he could repeat that heroic effort, the torture almost more than he could bear.  Compared to the sharp pain of cracked or broken ribs, the sting from the myriad cuts and scratches picked up during his abrupt trip through the underbrush went mostly unnoticed.  Somewhere during that tumultuous journey, his shirt had disappeared.  

The missing garment was the least of his worries.

He gasped, flinching away from the sharp, burning sensation that suddenly overrode the pain from his ribs.  It felt as if something was digging into his flesh, tearing through the skin and muscle to inflame every nerve it could find.

"Poor baby," the entity who called herself 'Kathleen' cooed mockingly.  "It looks like you've gone and cut yourself!  Why don't I kiss it and make it bettah?"

"Stay 'way!" Gary gasped, trying to push himself away from that presence that he still could not feel.  The sudden movement only served to reawaken the pain in his injured wrist.  Hugging his arm to his chest, Gary tried unsuccessfully to stifle an agonized moan.  "D-don't . . . don't touch me!" he grated out between clenched teeth.

Something touched his right leg, sending a searing shaft of agony from mid-thigh straight to his groin.  Gary shrank back with a strangled cry, vainly trying to escape his tormentor.

"That's a pretty deep gash," Kathleen murmured with a throaty chuckle.  "Why don't we get a closer look?"

Gary panicked when those unseen hands tugged at the button of his tan slacks.  Flinging himself backwards, away from that malignant creature, he tried to scramble out of her reach with just his heels and one hand.  His ungainly flight was halted by the rather painful discovery of a fallen tree . . . with his head.

Dazed, hurting in more places than he had ever been aware of before, Gary was forced to lie there, helpless to avoid Kathleen's attentions.  He trembled as that soft touch returned, tracing a faint line up his left leg this time, until he once more felt that insistent tug on the zipper of his trousers.

"D-don't do this," he pleaded in a strained whisper.  "I'm . . . I'm no threat to you."

"On the contrary," Kathleen purred seductively, her voice so close, it sent a chill up her victim's spine.  "Your stubbornness, compassion, and that damnable _faith_ make you one of our greatest challenges.  Of course, if you _really_ want to live, then I'm sure we can arrive at . . . an equitable arrangement." 

All the while, Kathleen's slender hands were undoing the fastenings on Gary's pants, her delicate touch sending shivers through his battered frame.  He could not see her eyes glitter with a hellish light as her hands slipped inside to caress his chill flesh while her lips traced the angle of his jaw.  Contrarily, hot tears stung his eyes as he was forced to lie there, shamed by an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

"Please don't do this," he whispered.  "Y-you're not real.  None . . . none of this . . . is real.  You can't . . ."

"I can do any damned thing I want," Kathleen crooned, her hands never ceasing their explorations.  "I can take your life, or I can take your soul.  The choice is yours."

A look of resolve settled over Gary's weary features as he suddenly pushed himself to his feet with his good hand.  Backing away, he tried to face his invisible assailant.

"Wh-whatever you get," he told her with surprising determination, "you'll _have_ t-to take.  I'm not g-giving . . . giving you a d-damned thing."

A hot wind rustled through his hair, not only drying the sweat from his skin but also threatening to suck every trace of moisture from his flesh.  It began to push on him, forcing him to take an uncertain step backwards.  Gary reached out blindly, trying to find something against which to brace himself.

"You are _not_ in a position to bargain," that sultry voice snarled menacingly.  "All I have to do is snap my fingers and that little hussy you call your _friend_ will die a horrible, agonizing death."

"Y-you leave her out of this," Gary warned her, still backing away.  "This . . . this is strictly be-between you an' me!"

Kathleen emitted a chuckle that froze Gary in his tracks, startled by the sense of sheer _evil_ that sound evoked.

"_You_ don't seem to get it," she told him in a voice that stirred up visions of open graves and rotting corpses.  "I command forces that can strip the flesh from your bones and then suck out the last drop of marrow from them.  I can call up a wind that would snatch you up and plunge you into the deepest part of the ocean, so far from land that your body would _nevah_ be found.  With a wave of my hand, I can open up a volcano right where you stand, letting molten lava fry you to a cinder.  I can . . ."

"If you can do all that," Gary snapped, "then why am I still alive?  Why are you trying to tease me a-and tempt me like a two-bit whore if all you have to do i-is snap your fingers and all Hell breaks loose?  Huh?  Tell me!  Just what kind of sick game are you playing?"

The sudden silence could be cut with a chainsaw.  Even the air felt almost too thick to breathe.

"What did you just call me?" Kathleen asked in a hushed whisper dripping with malice.

"You heard me," Gary murmured, too exhausted to be afraid anymore.  

"I am not, nor have I _evah_ been a whore," the dark angel growled in a tone that would have sent the most fanatical terrorist running for the nearest church, temple, or mosque.  

"What else do you call someone wh-who uses their body as a bargaining chip?" Gary retorted sharply.  "Or who wants me to use mine that way?  Y-you talk about giving up my soul t-to save my life, but . . . but y-you seem to be more interested in . . . in getting my clothes off!  Wh-what's the deal with that?"

Gary jumped slightly, biting back a cry from the pain that sudden motion caused, as something slithered across his bare foot.

"You have _no_ idea how fortunate you are," Kathleen murmured coldly.  "If not for your meddling predecessor, you would nevah have lived long enough to become the nuisance that you are.  Each and every scar on your body should remind you that Death is hovering less than a breath away.  With but a thought, I could command the vipers that are coiling about your ankles as we speak to strike, putting an end to your miserable existence."

"Then why haven't you?" Gary started to ask when he was interrupted by a spine-chilling, but wonderfully familiar growl.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Marissa was sure that they could never have covered so much ground so quickly anywhere else but Fantasy Island.  Just a little over an hour after they had left the main compound, they paused in a small clearing for a welcome breather.  A flat rock jutted out from the side of the mountain, giving an excellent view of their back trail.  While Marissa knew that she could not judge distances as well as others who had always been able to see, the petite woman was certain that someone had to be cheating.  The distant villa looked to be no larger than the pad of her thumb held at arms length.  

"Toto," she murmured softly to herself, "not only are we not in Kansas, we bypassed Oz and went straight to Never-Never Land."

"Wh-what did you say?" William panted from his seat on a convenient log.  "Somethin' 'bout never landin'?"

"Nothing," Marissa sighed, not wanting to waste precious time on pointless debate.  She didn't care if Mr. Roarke suddenly sprayed her with a handful of glittering fairy dust, so long as they reached Gary before whatever threatened him finished the job.  Absently rubbing her left arm, she tried to send him a message through that invisible link everyone was so certain that the two of them shared.  She begged him to hang in there, to stand strong.  Closing her eyes, Marissa tried to will him as much of her energy as she could, to bolster his own flagging strength.  That surge of panic that she had felt earlier still left a bad taste in her mouth.  Gary was all alone, in pain, and frightened half out of his wits, and it was all her fault.

"That's not gonna help him, you know," William murmured.

"What isn't?" Marissa grumbled, although she was pretty sure what the therapist meant.

"Blaming yourself for all of this," he replied, confirming her guess.  "You know that Gary won't hold what you said against you."

"He should," Marissa replied, turning her back on the incredible vista to join William on his impromptu bench.  "I was horrible to him.  All he wanted was to do something nice for me.  And what do I do?  I attack him.  When things didn't turn out to suit me, I cut him off at the knees and ripped his heart out.  I wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to speak to me again.  Why, if it wasn't for him and that damned Paper, I might never have met Emmett.  How could I have ever doubted that he wanted us to be happy?  How could I have stood there, screaming and shouting at him without giving him one chance to speak up in his defense?"

"Actually," William chuckled, "you did.  But he was too shell-shocked to say anything."

"Exactly," Marissa sighed.  "I verbally backed him into a corner and stripped him of every shred of dignity he had.  By the time I finally _asked_ him for an explanation, he was too stunned to think of one!  Then I go running off, not knowing, or caring what he was going to do.  I stuck a knife in his heart and just left him there to bleed to death."

"My," William shuddered.  "You certainly paint a lovely mental picture.  Tell me, darlin', did ever write for Stephen King?"

Whatever reply Marissa was going to make was cut off by the arrival of several stocky islanders.  She eyed them suspiciously.  They all looked as if they could have been brothers . . . and linebackers for the Bears.  The smallest one was well over six feet and had to weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds!

"Ah, good," Mr. Roarke murmured, nodding at the new arrivals.  "We may proceed now."  He stepped over to help Marissa and William to their feet.  "I felt that, if Mr. Hobson is unable to walk, we would require assistance to carry him back to the clinic."

"Excellent," Bowler Hat replied, not bothering to inquire as to _how_ the newcomers had been summoned.  He looked around, his bemused smile quickly turning into a puzzled frown.  "Where on Earth has he gotten to now?"

"Who?" William asked.

"Our four-legged guide," the tall man muttered irritably.  "That bloody feline has vanished again.  How are we expected to follow the little beast if he keeps pulling stunts like this?"

If William had been able to see, the look he gave the dark-suited man would have been very direct, and classic.

"You do realize that we're talkin' about a cat, right?" he inquired in a guarded tone.

Bowler Hat favored the sightless man with a look that spoke volumes in a language that even William was able to pick up.  The blind therapist's lips curled up in a smile that let the other man know that he had been royally had.  Without saying a word, the slender man turned on one heel and stalked over to where Mr. Roarke was assembling his crew.

"Are you absolutely positive we need him?" he growled softly, indicating William with a tilt of his chin. 

"Yes," Mr. Roarke murmured, failing to conceal his amusement.  "I have reason to believe that he will prove most helpful."

The dark-suited 'client' shot the therapist a venomous glare, then turned to follow the orange feline, which had reappeared to lead them to their quarry.

"Pity," was all he said.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Trembling with fear, pain, and exhaustion, Gary somehow managed to hold perfectly still as that deep rumble scaled into a blood-curdling screech.  There was the tiniest flicker of movement near his feet, and that scaly . . . _something_ vanished with an angry hiss!  A furred body pressed reassuringly against his leg, letting Gary feel the low growl vibrating through that tiny form.  Help was near, it seemed to be saying, silently urging him to 'hang in there.'  With a final hiss that a Komodo dragon would have envied, that warmth vanished, leaving Gary on his own once more.

"I sweah," Kathleen spat in a petulant hiss, "the moment I'm done with you, that little beast is next!"

Gary made no reply as he tried to use everything William had taught him in the short time they had been given.  He willed himself to shut out her cajoling voice and try to get a sense of his surroundings.  Kathleen seemed determined that he would appear to have died by his own actions, or by accident.  That meant that she had been herding him like a lost lamb, toward either a bog or a cliff.  Judging by the way the trails had all led upward, he was betting on the cliff.  The question remained, just how close were they to her goal?

Before him, he could hear the faint rustling of leaves as a stray gust stirred the jungle foliage.  Tilting his head slightly, Gary could hear only the creak of dead branches above him.  Behind him . . . Gary felt his skin crawl with a deep-rooted sense of dread.  He could sense nothing at his back but a vast emptiness.  

He had nowhere left to run, even if he could.

Despair washed over him like a crushing wave as he felt the return of that soft, yet agonizing touch.  Helplessly, he could only stand there, unable to move backwards lest he step into that yawning nothingness, unable to move to either side for the same reason, and not daring to lean into that hellish embrace for fear of losing more than just his life.  It took all of his strength and will to stand firm, to quiet the rapid beating of his heart as he felt her cool hands caress his too warm flesh, flesh that trembled with fear, not desire.  As her hands circled around him to stroke his scarred back and shoulders, Gary knew that he should be able to feel the warmth of her body pressing against his, but he felt nothing.  Even this close, he had no sense of a physical presence from this creature.  

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered in a tremulous voice.

"I've already told you," Kathleen murmured as she let her lips rake the dark stubble on his cheek.  "My boss . . ."

"No," Gary managed to rasp out, startling her for a moment.  "That's why you're going to kill me.  Why this?  Why do you have to . . . to . . .?"

"Because I'm driven by the same need that drives _him_," she whispered as she continued to stroke and nuzzle his quivering flesh.  "Hunger.  But, while he feeds on the power he holds over lesser creatures, my needs are more . . . basic.  I crave the pleasures of the flesh, of the union of two bodies in an explosion of burning desire and passion!"

"You m-make it sound beautiful," Gary stammered as her hands slid downward.  "B-but, by not giving me a choice, it's not passion.  It's rape.  I-it's the rutting of two mindless animals, w-with no more control over what they're doing than . . ."

For the second time in less than a day, Gary was knocked to the ground by a stinging blow to his cheek.  

"I have _total_ control," Kathleen hissed, her hands no longer gentle as they grasped the material of his slacks.  In one swift motion, she divested Gary of his last defense against her assault.  "It's about time you learned that fact."

Gary tried to cringe away from her groping hands, shamed anew to find himself cowering at her feet in nothing but his boxers, which were proving no impediment to her at all.  He tried to push her away with his good hand, only to encounter nothing where he knew she _had_ to be!  As Gary frantically scrambled to his feet, her persistent hands delved beneath the waistband of his shorts, claiming their prize!  With a sound that was partly a gasp of horror and a sob of despair, he tried to back away from her tenacious grasp only to find himself pinned against the bole of the dead tree.  He tried to will his body not to respond to her cool touch, but it was beyond his control.  A warm flush crept up his pallid features at the sound of her victorious chuckle.

"Oh _my!_" she purred triumphantly.  "We may have some fun after all.  It appears that at least _one_ part of you is not adverse to our . . . union."

"Don't do this," he whimpered.  "Please don't do this."

"This could be so much more pleasant," Kathleen murmured seductively, "if you would simply cast aside that useless morality and give yourself to me."

"Go to Hell," he whispered.

Searing pain exploded through every nerve in his body, wringing a cry of agony from Gary that echoed through the preternatural stillness!  For an eternity, he seemed to hover on the edge between the black abyss of unconsciousness and the fires of Hell.  Just as quickly, the pain was gone, the memory of it leaving him spent and helpless.  It was all Gary could do to keep his knees from buckling, clinging to the rough bark of the dead tree with his good hand.  He had to breathe, he reminded himself, forcing his tortured lungs to do their job.  It hurt, dear _God_, it hurt!  But not as bad as what that creature had just done to him.  Another breath, and then another and his head finally began to clear. 

Gary knew that he couldn't hold out much longer, especially not against another assault like that.  If it came down to a choice between what Kathleen wanted and the cliff, however, then he considered that a definite no-brainer.  

The cliff would win, hands down.

"Why do you keep resisting me?" that hellish apparition murmured into his ear, chuckling at his choked gasp of alarm.  "It could be so much fun, and might even spare your life."

"I'd rather die," Gary managed in a hoarse croak, his throat raw from the force of his earlier scream.

"Then jump," Kathleen hissed angrily, growing tired of his insipid morals.  "The cliff is less than a foot behind you.  Just turn around and one little step will end your torment forevah."

"Can't do that," Gary murmured with a shake of his head.  

"Why not?"

Gary had to swallow a couple of times, trying to ease the dryness that made it so difficult to speak.  He was so tired.  It seemed that he was lost no matter what he did.

"'S wrong," he finally replied in a raspy whisper.  Shaking his head slightly, Gary tried to make his tormentor understand.  "Su'cide's . . . wrong.  N-not my choice . . . t-to make."

"Then give yourself to me and let me save you," Kathleen insisted.

Gary shook his head again, obviously fighting to stay on his feet.  "Even worse," he sighed.  "You . . . want me . . . want me dead, I can't stop you.  I won't help you, either."

Stepping back, Kathleen glared at the wretched sight before her.  Gasping and trembling, with barely enough strength to draw in his next breath, in more pain than he had ever known in his life, yet still he resisted her.  Gary Hobson had effectively called her bluff.  The dark angel knew that she had already overstepped the limits by which she was bound.  To physically push him over that yawning precipice would seal her fate, and grant him release from his misery and pain.  She had to think of another bargaining chip, and quickly!

"What of your friend?" she murmured menacingly, bringing her spectral lips close to his ear.  

Gary's head jerked up, trying to home in on the sound of her voice.  The look on his face told Kathleen that she had struck a nerve.

"Wh-whadaya mean?" he stammered breathlessly.  "Wh-who . . .?"

"Marissa?" Kathleen replied, drawing the name out in a derisive hiss.  "The little tart you came here to impress.  The woman you gave your sight to, only for her turn around and stab you in the back.  Do you really need someone like that in your life?"

"Sh-she just didn't understand," Gary shot back, excusing and forgiving his friend in one breath.  "S-something went wrong a-and she . . . she was hurt, angry!  She had every right to be!"

Pleased to have gotten a rise out of the young guardian, Kathleen was still at a loss as to how to use this against him.  He seemed determined that his friend was blameless for his current distress.

"Is that why you ran away?" she sneered, circling her prey in a macabre dance.  "You're afraid to face her because you know you screwed up!"

"Yes," Gary whispered, refusing to rise to her bait, yet cutting himself no slack.  "I messed up.  I hurt her, and someday, I hope she'll forgive me.  B-but that's not why I ran."

"Really?" 

"I-I needed . . . needed time to . . . to think, to . . ." Gary paused, turning his head to try again to home in on her voice.  "What . . . what does it m-matter why?  Wh-what business is it . . . of yours?"

"Wouldn't you like to get your sight back before you die?" Kathleen murmured in a needling tone.  "Wouldn't you like for her to suffer as you have?"

"Were you b-born depraved?" Gary snapped, starting to feel his second, or was it his third wind?  "O-or d-did you take a Berlitz course?  No!  I'd _never_ . . .!"

"Your life," Kathleen hissed, startling him with her nearness, "your soul, for hers.  She tainted herself when she so cruelly turned on you.  Her only hope of redemption . . . rests in your hands.  Give me what I want, or step from this ledge, and her burdens are lifted.  Resist and she suffers for the rest of eternity." 

Gary didn't, couldn't believe her, yet just the thought of his dearest friend suffering on his account sent a pain through his heart to rival Kathleen's earlier attack.  His face twisted in indecision as his will finally began to waver.

"You . . . you can't have her," he whispered, the despair in his voice unmistakable.  "She's . . . she's special."

"Then save her," Kathleen urged.  "Prove how much you value the bond the two of you share.  Isn't her life worth such a small token as your soul?"

Tears coursed down Gary's cheeks as he struggled to stand erect.  He didn't want to die, every nerve, every fiber of his body screamed that message to his brain.  But Marissa was his friend, his anchor in a world gone mad.  If he lost her . . .

"Don't listen to her!"

Gary froze as Kathleen let out a screech of frustration.  

"She has no power to hurt me, Gary," Marissa insisted, her voice growing louder as she and the rest of the search party erupted into the clearing.  "Only you do.  You have that power because I gave it to you a long time ago.  I gave it to you the night we first became friends.  I didn't realize it at the time, or even until today, but we gave each other more than either of us could possibly imagine.  We shared our souls.  Don't let her push you into something you know in your heart is wrong, Gary.  Please."

Gary stood there, trembling, his right foot mere inches from the crumbling lip of the precipice.  He wanted to believe her, wanted to live more than he had ever thought possible, but he had hurt her and didn't know if he could ever forgive himself that fact.

"Jump!" Kathleen hissed venomously.  "Jump!  It's the only way to make things right!"

"I don't know who you are," Marissa snarled, "but he isn't the one who needs to atone.  _I do!"_

Gary's brow knit into a puzzled frown at that.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he asked in a barely audible rasp.  "A-after what I did . . ."

"What did you really do, Gary?" Marissa asked, her voice soft and pleading.  "You gave me a part of yourself, so that I could know the joy of looking on the faces of the people I love.  You offered up your heart, freely and without reservation, to show me how much our friendship truly mattered to you.  If that's a sin, then we should all be so lost.  No, Gary.  The sin was mine for not having faith in you.  I was the one who lashed out at you, without even bothering to find out if you were to blame.  I was the one who took the most precious thing in my _life_ and ground it into the dust.  Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," Gary murmured, as if astonished that she even had to ask.  He even managed a weak smile.  "W-we're still friends, aren't we?"

"Then step away from the ledge, Mr. Hobson," Mr. Roarke urged the younger man.  "Please."

"I-I can't," Gary whispered tremulously.  "I-I don't . . . Help me?  Please?"

"There is no help for you," Kathleen's voice echoed through the clearing, having made herself invisible to all but the snarling cat.  His kind could always see her.  "If they make one move in your direction, this ledge will crumble, taking you and them to a most horrible death."

"Oh, knick off!" Bowler Hat grumbled irritably.

Evil laughter rang out as Kathleen's glowing image took shape, hands or her hips as she glared insultingly at the team of rescuers.

"You have no power over me," she snarled.

"Your ceaseless blundering gives me the power," was Bowler Hat's scornful response. "You've far overstepped your limited authority with this little stunt.  Even your vile Master will have to admit to that.  You were expressly _forbidden_ to inflict physical harm!  Now, be gone!"  With a flick of his hand, a hot wind kicked up a swirling cloud of dust in the area from which her voice had resonated.  He was rewarded with Kathleen's parting shriek as the small whirlwind shrank in upon itself and vanished.  Turning to place a restraining hand on Marissa's arm, he looked at Mr. Roarke.  "The devil of it is the little succubus is right.  That ledge could give way with little more than a sneeze."

"Oh, that's encouraging," Gary murmured, having clearly heard the whispered words.  "I think I'm getting a cold."  Moving very slowly, he cocked his head from side to side, listening.  "I-is she . . . is she gone?"

"Most assuredly," Bowler Hat promised.  "Now, if you would be so kind as to make your way to this side of the tree, perhaps we might be able to give you a hand."

"I'll try," Gary nodded, trying to keep his movements slow and careful.  He began to inch his way around the dead tree.

"Um, Gary," Marissa murmured, not wanting to startle her friend.  "What happened to your clothes?"

"Long story," Gary replied with a strained laugh.  "Later?"

"Oh, ahm, sure," Marissa quickly agreed, relieved that her skin tone didn't show a blush as easily as his.  "Over a nice hot cocoa?"

"Sounds good," Gary chuckled, trying to ease the apprehension that he could hear in her voice . . . not to mention his own.  "Got any marshmallows?"

"I am certain we can find some," Mr. Roarke murmured with a tinge of humor.  "Carefully now.  You are almost there."

Moving slowly, certain that the ledge would give way at any moment, Gary inched his way around the bole of the dead tree until Mr. Roarke told him to stop.  He could almost feel the hands reaching out to help him . . . just as the rumbling told him they were just one second too late.  With a panicked cry, Gary threw himself forward, hoping against reason to span the growing gap, praying that one of them would be able to grasp his outstretched hand!  He was sure that he felt fingertips brushing his . . . as he plummeted into the abyss.

There was a brief moment of freefall, then Gary hit the rocky ground with a jolt that knocked the air from his lungs.  He hit rolling, tumbling down amidst the rattling debris.  At some point, he went airborne again, only to find himself rolling down another, steeper slope.  He was never sure exactly what he caught up against, but he was immensely relieved to have found it.  

Gary was sure that he had broken almost every bone in his body.  If not, then he had to have at least scored a 'personal best.'  Between his stumbling excursions that past night, Kathleen's tender mercies, and his most recent adventure, Gary didn't think he had one single atom in his body that didn't resonate with pain.  Why he was still conscious was a mystery he really wished to solve so that he could be blessedly _un_conscious as soon as possible.  Preferably with a little of that morphine that used to frightened him with the specter of addiction.  Not a lot, mind you, but at least enough to take the edge off the pain; and this pain had _lots_ of edges!

With a low moan, Gary began to move his arms and legs, trying to assess the extent of his injuries.  He quickly gave that up as a bad idea.  He was already finding more than he wanted to know about.  He had come to the reluctant conclusion that his only course of action was no action of any sort more laborious than breathing . . . when he heard another ominous rumble.

"Now what!" he mumbled with a pitiful moan, just as a cry from above sent him diving to the left with more speed than he would have thought himself capable of mere seconds before.  A loud crash resonated above him as he, again, found himself falling.  And falling, and falling.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**


	3. Darkness and Despair

Marissa felt her heart slam into her throat as the huge mass of deadwood toppled, its fragile roots finally releasing their tenuous grasp on the rocky soil.  Instinctively, she reached out one hand in a futile effort to stop the inevitable.  There was no deep groaning of tortured wood, no dryadic death cry as books and movies often described, merely a soft _whish_ and the sounds of roots snapping as the jungle giant fell.  

The top of the tree struck the steep slope at an angle, causing the root end to flip over to their left with a loud crash that more than made up for the earlier silence.  The whole tree bounced and shuddered as it tumbled in Gary's wake.

Gary.  Just minutes ago, he had been standing with his back to that same tree; his right hand stretching out blindly for the help that he knew was only a few feet away.

It might just as well have been on the far side of the moon.  The unstable ground had practically disintegrated beneath his feet and he had simply vanished from sight.

His plaintive cry still echoed in her mind.  Even if Gary had survived the fall, having a few hundred pounds of raw timber slam into him with the force of a freight train was not going to help matters.  

As the tree toppled, Marissa managed to scream out a warning to the rescue party, which had just barely reached that first terrace.  She watched as Mr. Roarke called out his own warning to someone below, and then dove out of the juggernaut's path.  Just before it reached the edge of the slope, the tree bounced impossibly high and cleared the lip without touching the men who huddled there.

A hesitant touch reminded her that she was not the only one who had been left behind.  She turned to find William cocking his head to one side, as if listening for something, perhaps for the reassurance that she just couldn't give.

"Is . . . Is there a chance?" he whispered timidly.  "Any chance at all?"

She didn't have to ask what he meant.  She was asking the same thing herself.  Was there any chance that Gary was still alive?

"I don't know," she murmured, almost afraid to give voice to her fears.  "I-it's not as sheer as we thought it was, but he could still . . . I don't know what lies past that next ledge.  If it's steeper than this first slope . . . I just don't know!"

"You could feel him before," William reminded her, his voice almost pleading.  "Can you still . . .?  I mean . . ."

"I've been afraid to try," Marissa admitted tearfully.  "Wh-what if . . . what if I can't?"

"Then we'll know, won't we," was William's sad reply.

Unable to refute his logic, Marissa closed her eyes.  Looking deep within herself, she sought out the tiny beacon that had given her so much hope before.  Then, it had glowed brightly, letting her know that he was still very much alive, if miserable with pain and grief.  Now . . . now she searched frantically, praying to find even the tiniest spark of life.  

It was so faint that she almost missed it.  With a silent prayer of gratitude, Marissa homed in on that faint glimmer, that almost infinitesimal speck of light that was her dearest friend.  

"He's alive," Marissa relayed in a choked voice.  "He's alive, but just barely.  It's . . . it's as if he's hanging at the end of a rope over this huge . . . emptiness.  H-he's so frightened, William!  He's so very, very frightened!  And so weak!  I don't know if he can hold on much longer!"

William backed away, his face thoughtful.  

"The others may not realize that he's still alive," the therapist mused.  "If they go at this like a body retrieval . . . We need to let them know."

"I don't think they can hear me from up here," Marissa replied, thoughtfully chewing her lower lip.  Coming to a decision, she placed William's hand on the crook of her elbow and led him to the far edge of the clearing, as far from that damnable ledge as she dared.  Guiding him to a fallen log, she asked him to wait there for one of them to return.

"Where are you going?" William asked her.

"I have to go down there," Marissa replied, not bothering to say where 'there' was.  They both knew what she was talking about.  "I have to let them know he's still alive, and see what I can do to help."

As William listened to her fading footsteps, he fervently wished that he, too, could offer some kind of assistance.  It galled him to have to sit on the sidelines while everyone else, even that blasted cat, looked for his missing patient, cousin . . . and friend.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Gary tumbled end over end, plummeting through a trackless void that seemed to go on forever, but was actually no more than twenty feet.  Steeling himself for another painful impact, he was unprepared to find himself plunging beneath an icy torrent.  Dark waters engulfed the battered figure, at once numbing the pain momentarily, as it also sapped his already badly depleted strength.  The churning water rolled him helplessly over the rocky streambed, adding to the myriad cuts and bruises that already decorated his scantily clad body.  Dazed and disoriented, Gary tried to fight his way to the surface, flinging out his good hand as he kicked with his uninjured leg.  By some miracle, he soon found himself gulping in a huge lungful of life-giving air just a split second after his questing hand latched onto a rough surface.

Time ceased to have any meaning to the bedraggled figure clinging desperately to that unseen anchor.  His entire world had been reduced to only two things, keeping his head above water, and his grasp on that rock.  The roar of the river filled his ears, blocking out any other sounds, even his own voice as he weakly cried for help.  Gary tried to bring his left arm up in an attempt to reinforce his grip, but the injured arm hung limply by his side.  And his right hand was beginning to slip.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

With a speed and agility that she had not known she possessed, Marissa scrambled down the ropes trailing down the rocky slope until she caught up with the rescue party.  She found them gathered around a pile of debris, trying to shift a large chunk of granite out of their way.

"He's alive!" she shouted without preamble, startling the large natives into looking her way.  "I can feel him!  He's still alive, but we have to hurry!"

Mr. Roarke and Bowler Hat had not even glanced her way, as if they had expected her to arrive at just that moment.  They were engrossed in their examination of the obstacle before them.

"I am sure that he is," Mr. Roarke murmured finally acknowledging her presence.  "The problem remains as to how we may reach him."  He stood back, giving Marissa a good look at their dilemma.  

What looked like freshly shattered rock had fallen into a depression at their feet.  No, not a depression, Marissa decided on closer inspection.  A hole.  At one point, it may have been of considerable size.  Now, however, a rather large chunk of granite was wedged into the middle of it, leaving a narrow opening to either end of the obstruction.

"If we can shift it either way," Bowler Hat mused, "we could widen the opening a bit, but not enough for any of us to fit through."

Marissa knelt down to get a better look at the problem.  The largest opening was wide enough in one direction that she was confident her narrow hips and shoulders would fit through, but not quite deep enough for even her slender frame.

"If you can give me a couple more inches of space," she told them, "I think I can squeeze through."

"And what could you do once you found him?" the lanky Briton snorted.  "Hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings?"

"I can wrap a bandage and keep him from bleeding to death until you heroes can find a better way down," Marissa snapped, not in the least impressed with the smarmy attitude.  "I can tie a rope around him and keep him from falling even farther, if that's what he needs.  Or I can at least be there so . . . so that he doesn't have to die alone!  So, shut up and put your muscle where your mouth is and move that damned rock!"

Stunned, Bowler Hat looked at the tiny woman as if seeing her for the first time.  Finally, he turned toward the four natives who made up the bulk of the rescue party and gave them a wry smile.

"You heard the young lady," he told them.  "Put your shoulders to it, lads!"

After much grunting, groaning, and straining, they managed to shift the boulder enough to give Marissa the room she needed.  Securing a rope in a makeshift harness around her hips and waist, she took the flashlight Mr. Roarke handed her and prepared for her descent.  As the brawny islanders lowered her into the darkness, Marissa shone the light around, dismayed to see it reflecting off a rippling surface.

"There's an underground stream!" she called up.  Looking around, she located a narrow shelf of rock that paralleled the water.  She quickly reported this to the others and they managed to swing her just enough to land her safely on dry ground.  Using the rope as a guide, they slid a small backpack stuffed with bandages and other first-aid necessities to her eager grasp.  She then hauled in the rope, coiling it into as small an encumbrance as she could, knowing that she might have need of it later.  

As she shouldered the pack for her trek downstream, Marissa was startled by a burst of static.  Opening one of the side pockets, she was pleased to find a hand-held radio.  

"To speak," Mr. Roarke's voice instructed her, "you must press down the button on the side of this unit.  To hear our response, simply release it.  Do you understand?"

It only took the young woman a second to find the button in question and return his instructions word for word.

"Good," Mr. Roarke replied.  "Let us know the instant you have found him and if there are any other openings along the way.  Remember, Gary's life is now in your hands."

"I know," Marissa murmured as she settled the pack more comfortably on her slender frame.  "And I don't intend to fail him this time."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It seemed as if hours had passed when William finally heard grunting and gasping voices as the rescue party returned from their futile excursion.  He waited with an outward semblance of calm that hid the icy tremors making his heart stutter.  He forced himself to be still, to listen to what the two leaders were saying.  Caverns, something about Gary falling into some kind of caverns.  They let Marissa go in alone?  Were they out of their collective minds?  The Briton's irritable voice seemed to share that sentiment.  

"Our choices were limited, I assure you," Mr. Roarke murmured calmly.  "I would never have let her take such a risk otherwise.  There are other ways to reach that underground stream, but they are very circumspect, and could take many hours; hours that young Mr. Hobson may not have.  This way, at least, she may render him life-sustaining treatment that will buy us precious time."

"And if she were to fall into some misadventure herself?" the cultured voice retorted.  "What then?  We have two at risk instead of one.  Just how does that help us?  No, no, I realize that our options were less than ideal, and severely limited.  Still, I'm not required to like it one bit.  As you so succinctly pointed out, time is the deciding factor."

"We have no maps of these caverns," the island's host sighed in obvious frustration.  "Compasses are useless due to an overabundance of magnetic ore within these mountains.  Tunnels branch in many directions, some ending within a few yards, others circling back upon themselves.  Experienced spelunkers have been lost within their depths for days, even weeks.  Some have never been seen again.  Even our four-footed guide needs something, a spore of some kind, to track Mr. Hobson's whereabouts.  If we are to go in, we may first have to determine where this particular stream comes out."

William could almost see the look on the Briton's face as the silence stretched out into an uncomfortable stillness.

"_This_ stream?" he repeated.  "There could be more than one?"

"There are two waterfalls that empty directly into the ocean on this side of the island," was Mr. Roarke's discouraging reply.  "Plus numerous small grottos with outlets to the sea.  This one stream could branch off, or be diverted, and we would have no way of finding him until it was too late.  No, we must find a quicker means of locating them."

It could have been his imagination, but William was sure he felt the weight of another's gaze on him.  Several gazes, actually.

"You must be joking," the Briton snorted derisively.  "What is this, the blind leading the blind?"

"You, above all others, should not be so quick to scoff," Mr. Roarke chuckled.  "Dr. Griner is a man with rare and wonderful gifts.  Of most interest, and importance to us is an uncanny sense of direction.  He _always_ knows where North is.  Not magnetic North, as any compass could detect, and would be useless to us under the circumstances, but _true_ North.  He is also gifted with a sense of hearing that borders upon that used by bats to locate their prey.  I would venture to say that he has heard everything we have just said."

"And I'm not real thrilled about this, either," William spoke up, confirming Mr. Roarke's supposition.  "I haven't been cave crawlin' in over twenty years.  But, if you'll keep me from breakin' my fool neck on the stuff I _cain't_ hear or feel, then I'll do my best."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Marissa was never sure how long she had been walking when she reached the first terrace.  She had been playing the flashlight over the surface of the water in wide, sweeping arcs, hoping to catch a glimpse of her missing friend.  At the same time, she had been trying to watch her footing and keep the others apprised of her location and surroundings.  She was all too aware that Gary's salvation rested on her staying in one piece long enough to find him.

The rock was less than three feet from the bank.  So close, but to the sightless man, it might just as well have been miles.  Marissa stared at the bloody streaks that glistened darkly on the gray surface, not yet cleansed by the rushing waters.  If she had arrived just minutes earlier, she might have been able to reach out, pull him to safety.  In her mind's eye, she could still see him there, clinging to this crude anchor, praying for the strength to hang on just one minute longer.

A prayer that wasn't answered.

Shaking herself out of her grim reverie, Marissa began her descent.  The path wasn't steep, following a series of wide shelves that led ever downward, into a darkness so much like that in which she had grown up that she was almost tempted to turn off her light to make better speed.  The resounding echoes reminded her that this would not be the wisest course of action.  Sound within these vast chambers was different than what she was used to on the surface.  No, she had to use _all_ of her senses if she was to help her friend.

The stream fanned out, its waters slowing as the shelves widened into broad terraces, which finally emptied into a huge grotto the size of a baseball diamond, without the backfield.  At the far side of the cavern, light glimmered from beneath the surface at the same spot from which gentle waves surged upwards.  

Gary's limp form drifted aimlessly within that soft radiance.  She could just make out his back and shoulders as he floated face down less than five feet from her.  Quickly shedding her pack, Marissa waded out to her friend, relieved to find that the water was no deeper than her chest this close to the edge, and grabbed a handful of his thick dark hair.  It took almost all of her strength to haul him onto the rocky shelf.  With considerable effort, especially as she had nothing to grab onto but bare skin, Marissa finally managed to turn him onto his back and put an ear to his chest.  She was relieved to hear a feeble heartbeat, but alarmed to find that he wasn't breathing!

Gently tilting his head back, Marissa began to breathe for him.  After a few quick breaths, she pushed upwards on his abdomen, hoping to expel any water that might be blocking his lungs.  Praying with more heart and fervor than she ever had in her entire life, Marissa alternated between these two actions until, finally, Gary vomited what seemed an enormous amount of water, then began to cough.  The deep, lung-tearing spasms were soon reduced to a wheezing gasp as Gary lapsed back into unconsciousness without ever opening his eyes.

Then, and only then, did Marissa allow herself to worry about any other injuries that Gary might have.  She had already found a few broken ribs during her resuscitation efforts; wincing each time she felt the bones grate, yet not daring to stop.  Now she was able to see the swelling and deformity in his left arm, and the extreme outward rotation of his right leg, suggesting some type of hip or thigh injury.  He was covered with cuts and bruises that had been cleansed by the freezing water, and he was beginning to shiver.  She had no way to determine if he had any internal injuries.  For all she knew, he could be bleeding to death inside.

It took some effort on her part, and a lot of pain on Gary's, but Marissa soon had his now entirely _un_clad form wrapped in one of the yellow emergency blankets from the pack.  She then wrapped one around herself and snuggled close to her friend, trying to warm his chill flesh.  That was when she remembered the radio.

"Mr. Roarke," she said into the mike.  "I've found him, and he's alive.  But he . . . he's badly hurt.  We're in some kind of grotto that opens out to the sea, but the entrance is underwater.  Do you have any idea how soon you can reach us?  Gary needs help now!"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It had taken the search party the better part of the morning to find the right entrance to the cavern holding the underground stream.  William had proven invaluable in eliminating dead ends and two branches that had shifted direction away from their goal.  Still, the going had been slow, tedious, and dangerous.  Only the cat's chilling yowl alerted them to a sudden drop-off before it claimed their sightless guide.

"The air is absolutely dead here," William murmured, as if unwilling to awaken the very echoes he used to 'feel' his way.  "There's not a breath stirrin' at all."

"There are many such places within these mountains," Mr. Roarke informed them in a hushed voice, as if he, too, were unwilling to disturb the unnerving silence.  "It is one of the many things that make this land . . . such a mystery."  He turned to the younger man.  "Are we still headed in the right direction?"

William paused to consult that inner compass Mr. Roarke had called into play, and the mental map he had been making of their progress.  He was still amazed that their mystic host had recognized a gift that he had been totally unaware of, having never even questioned how easily sightless navigation had come to him.  Of course, his own experience prior to his accident had been nil.  He had always considered himself a slow study, never realizing how he had amazed his counselors.

"I think we're still a little above and to the southeast of that hole you dropped Marissa down," he murmured.  

"And which direction would _that_ be?" Bowler Hat grumbled.  It was obvious that he was not enjoying their underground excursion one bit.  He shone his light on the ledge before them, following the rocky lip as it led off to their left, disappearing into the inky darkness.  "As if our options weren't somewhat limited."

Using his cane, William swept the ledge.  

"We need to follow this as far as we can," the blind therapist replied.  "It's goin' the right way on both counts.  And I think I hear runnin' water.  It shouldn't be too much farther."

Bowler Hat couldn't help a derisive snort as he swept his beam about the narrow tunnel.  As Mr. Roarke had mentioned earlier, there were several underground streams.  They had already navigated around three that Dr. Griner had dismissed as either going in the wrong direction, too far from Marissa's point of entry, or both.  The Briton bit back a scathing remark, however, when he happened to catch sight of their guide's intense look of concentration.

"This isn't easy for me, either," William confessed, as if reading the other man's mind.  "I've only done this one other time since I lost my sight, and let me tell you, that wasn't any picnic.  We need to get going, fellas.  Can you see how far down this ledge runs?"

"At least a hundred feet or more," Bowler Hat replied, softening his tone in a tacit apology.  "It doesn't appear too steep, but it does narrow a bit in places.  Can you cope with that?"

"Well, I'm a little rusty on my 'Human Fly' imitations," the sightless man chuckled grimly, "but I think I can manage.  Just help me keep my feet on solid ground and I'll be okay."

"Good lad," the Briton smiled, giving William's shoulder an encouraging nudge.  "It might be best if one of us leads the way for a bit, at least until this levels out."

"I concur," Mr. Roarke nodded.  

"Don't expect an argument from me," William replied with a cheeky grin.  He waved his hand invitingly toward the ledge.  "Lead on, MacDuff."

Bowler Hat rolled his eyes as he prepared to step out onto the ledge.  "Oh, _where_ have I heard that before?"

At that moment, the radio crackled to life.

"Hello?  Can you hear me?"

Mr. Roarke quickly brought his unit to his lips.  "We hear you," he replied in a voice pitched just loud enough to be heard over the radio.

"How close are you?" Marissa asked, a note of urgency in her voice.

William shook his head as he felt all eyes turn to him.  "I can only guess about another hour 'til we reach them," was his disheartened answer.  "At least."

Marissa sounded none too thrilled to hear that.

"Then I suggest you get a move on," she told them.  "Gary still hasn't come to, and the tide's starting to come in.  I've already had to drag him out of the water once, and I'm running out of room on this little shelf."

Bowler Hat couldn't help but notice Mr. Roarke's troubled look.

"Just how high does the tide run this time of year?" the dapperly dressed man asked.

"About five feet," Mr. Roarke murmured before keying the mike again.  "Can you drag him onto a higher shelf?"

There was a moment of silence during which they could all envision Marissa shining her light around, evaluating her options.

"Maybe," Marissa finally responded.  "The next two shelves will get us about two feet higher.  They're low, but they slant upwards a little.  I can't guarantee the next one, though.  It's just a couple of feet higher, but I can't lift Gary enough to drag him over it without hurting him even more."

"That may be a risk you'll have to take," Mr. Roarke bluntly informed her.  In a softer tone he asked, "How is he?"

"Not good," Marissa responded, trying valiantly to remain calm.  "He's starting to have trouble breathing, and he's shivering.  I think he's going into shock.  Um, his pulse is rapid and weak, thready I think.  His skin is cool and clammy to the touch.  And the only response I get is when I pinch his arm.  He's moaned a few times, but that's all."  There was another moment of silence then, "Please hurry."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Marissa stuffed the radio back into her pack and placed it onto the higher shelf.  Turning back to her friend, she was alarmed to see that the waves were once more tugging at the edge of Gary's blanket.  It was as if the sea, having sampled the delicate morsel and liking the taste, was hungry to reclaim its prize.

Moving quickly, Marissa grasped the yellow plastic just above Gary's shoulders; careful to keep his head and back straight, then began dragging him toward the next shelf.  The first rise was only a few inches, but was enough to wring a painful moan from the unconscious man.  She slid him as far as the edge of the next rise and made him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, folding the blanket she had been using into a flat pillow for his battered head.  Having done all that she could, Marissa began to pace the rapidly dwindling space in an attempt to warm herself.  

"'Rissa?"

The tiny woman instantly dropped to one knee beside her weakly struggling friend.

"Lie still, Gary," she told him, gently pinning his shoulders down.  "Help's on the way.  Do you understand what I'm saying?  You've had a pretty wild ride, but you're gonna be fine."

"You d-don' lie 'n' better'n me," Gary murmured weakly, his voice little more than a whispery rasp.  He did as she instructed though, and lay back under her gentle urging.  "How bad?"

"A concussion at least," Marissa sighed, smoothing a lock of hair from his brow to reveal a dark bruise and a deep gash over his left eye.  "Some broken ribs, I think.  At least they felt broken when I was pumping the water from your lungs.  Your left arm is a mess.  I'm not sure if your right hip is broken, but it could be."

"Feels like it," Gary rasped.  He licked lips that felt dry and scratchy, tasting salt.  "Did . . . did I . . . d-drown?"

"Almost," Marissa admitted, worried that he had to ask after what she had just told him.  They could be dealing with more than just a concussion.  "Try to stay with me, Gary.  Talk to me."

"'Bout what?"

"Anything.  Um, how are you and Dr. Griner related?" she asked, reaching for a topic.

"His mom," Gary murmured, his voice little more than a breathy sigh.  "Um, sh-she was gran'daughter of, um, oldes' twin."  He let his head roll into the warmth of Marissa's hand.  "Mmm, feels good."

"So how did she get to North Carolina?"

"Don' 'member," Gary sighed.  "Tired."

"Don't you dare go to sleep and leave me here all alone," Marissa chided him, hoping to play on his concern for her in an effort to keep him talking.  

Gary blinked his sightless eyes, striving to stay awake.  "Sorry," he murmured.  "Wh-where are . . . are we?"

"Good question," Marissa chuckled grimly.  She looked around at their dark, damp chamber.   "If we had a snorkel, we could probably swim out, if you were in any shape to swim."

"Figures," Gary mumbled.  "Didn' even get t' the beach.  W-wanted t' see . . . see dolphins."

"You did, huh?  Do you like dolphins?"

"Yeah," Gary whispered, his voice beginning to slur as his eyes drifted shut.  "They're . . . they're cool."

"Open those eyes, Hobson," the petite woman insisted.  "I'm not through talking to you!"

"Hunh?  Wh-what'd I do?"

"You tried to flake out on me," Marissa told him, feeling a pang of guilt at browbeating him this way.  "Now, tell me what it is that you like about dolphins."

"Um, they're like . . . like kids," Gary replied, obviously struggling to get his thoughts in order.  "A-always playin' b-but learnin', too.  Smart.  They're lots smarter 'n us, I think.  And, um, they dance."

"Dance?" Marissa repeated, urging him to explain.

"Yeah," Gary murmured softly, a tiny smile tugging at his dry lips.  "On the water.  They, um, they dance . . . on top, a-and fly . . . under.  So cool.  W-water?"

Marissa recognized this last as a plea, rather than a question.  She stepped over to her pack and pulled out the sports bottle that had been included.  Returning to Gary's side, she carefully lifted his head and slowly dribbled a few drops at a time onto his lips.  Gary licked them up greedily, turning his head slightly and opening his mouth for more.

"Not too much," Marissa cautioned her friend.  "You don't want to get sick."

"N-no," Gary reluctantly agreed, letting her lower his head back onto its makeshift pillow.  "Tired."

"So you like the way dolphins move, huh?" Marissa said, trying to keep him talking.  "I'd love to see that myself."

"Maybe you will," Gary murmured.

"Not likely," Marissa chuckled, trying to keep the conversation to a light banter.  "Cinderella has to return the glass slippers before midnight, remember?"

"O-only . . . only if . . . godmother's there . . . to take it back."

Marissa bit her lip to keep from crying.  She had known from the start that Gary's injuries were critical.  Evidently, Gary knew this too.  

"Don't you do this to me, Gary Hobson," she growled, tightening her grip on his hand.  "Don't you even _think_ about dying on me!  I won't allow it!"

This absurd statement managed to wring a raspy chuckle from the injured man, which soon turned into a series of choking coughs that frightened Marissa.

"D-don't," Gary gasped once he finally managed to catch his breath.  "Hurts . . . hurts to . . . to laugh.  I love you, 'Rissa, an' think . . . know . . . you can . . . move mount'ns w-with your . . . your faith.  But you can't . . . can't stop Death.  I know.  I've tried."

"Please, Gary," Marissa pleaded, reduced to begging now that she could hear the resignation in his voice.  "You have to hang on.  Help really is on its way.  Mr. Roarke, Dr. Griner, a-and the cat, and some guy in a bowler hat who thinks he's Cary Grant, or something.  Not to mention four or five guys who look like they bench press Holsteins for fun.  We'll have you out of here and into a hospital in no time at all!"

Gary's pale brow furrowed and his mouth turned down in a puzzled frown at the mention of the man in the bowler hat.  

"Th-that guy . . . the one w-with the hat," he murmured.  "D-does he have, um, kinda . . . dark hair a-and talk like . . . like David Niven?"

"Y-yes," Marissa replied, puzzled by the change in Gary's tone.  She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.  "Do you know him?"

"S-sorta," Gary whispered, obviously struggling to keep his sightless eyes open.  "Okay," he sighed.  "Y-you win.  I . . . I'll stay a-awake . . . if only . . . to meet M-Mr. Bowler Hat."

Marissa could have wept for joy at hearing the new note of determination in Gary's voice.  She still had no clue as to whom that mysterious man was, or what his connection was to Gary, but she sent a heartfelt prayer of gratitude that she had thought to mention him.  Sinking back with a weary sigh, she gave her friend's hand a gentle squeeze.

"So, what do you think?  Will the Cubs make the playoffs this year?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~@**

William almost lost his precarious footing as the cat let out a loud "Mrowr!"  He pressed himself against the damp wall of the cavern as the Briton let out a muffled curse, followed by the faint 'tick' of claws on stone as the cat scampered ahead of them.

"Blasted beast scared the life out of me!"

'Knocked a few years offa mine, too,' William thought ruefully, one hand pressed against his heaving chest.

"It must have caught Mrs. Brown's scent," Mr. Roarke theorized.  He sounded disgustingly calm, under the circumstances.  "This must be the right stream."

"I told you that when we found it," William grumbled, still irked at having had his judgment called into doubt.  If they were going to question his every move, then why had they felt they needed him on this mission?  Not that he wouldn't have found some reason to tag along anyway.  He held up one hand to silence the others as he strained to hear over the rushing noise of the water.  "I can hear Marissa," he reported.  "We must be getting close."

Without another word being spoken, the search party rushed forward, William clinging to the brawny arm of one of the islanders as his guide.  Minutes later, a strangled cry rang out, reverberating over the sound of the rippling falls.

"I'm sorry, Gary," they heard Marissa say, her voice tight with urgency.  "I'm so sorry, but I have to get you to safer ground.  The tide's almost . . . Cat?  Oh, thank God!"

"Marissa!" Mr. Roarke called out.  "Marissa, can you hear me?"

"Over here!"

They found Marissa trying to hold Gary's head and shoulders up out of the rising swells of the incoming tide.  Her back was up against a three-foot high shelf of rock, with the water almost up to her slender hips.  Gary struggled weakly, trying to help her with little success.  The dim lighting was more than enough to reveal his battered condition, not to mention his lack of attire.  The yellow blanket had evidently been swept away at some point.

"Watch out for his leg," Marissa instructed breathlessly as two of the islanders leaped to her assistance.  Less than a minute later, she was sitting on the higher shelf, a real blanket wrapped around her shivering body as the rescue party secured her friend's warmly wrapped form to a backboard.  "Thank God you made it," she sniffled, fighting the sudden wave of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.  "We were running out of things to talk about."

"You just relax, Mrs. Brown," one of the islanders, an older man who had been introduced to her as Dr. Tanaka at one point.  "We'll take good care of your friend."  The swarthy physician started to check Gary's eyes only to be stopped by a quick shake of his employer's head.  "I'm just gonna start an IV on you, Mr. Hobson.  This won't hurt a bit."

"I've heard that one before," Gary grumbled softly.  "Sh-shouldn' ya say 'O-once 'pon a time' first?"

"Good one, Mr. Hobson," Dr. Tanaka chuckled.  He quickly found the vein in Gary's right arm and inserted the angiocath before his patient had a chance to cry out.  "See?  Piece of cake."

"Sez you," Gary mumbled, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  It really hadn't hurt all that much.  He just grumbled on principle.  

The doctor patted him gently on his good arm before standing up to pull Mr. Roarke aside for a whispered consultation.  Watching them, Marissa frowned at the guarded looks they kept shooting towards Gary, and the way Dr. Tanaka was shaking his head.  In the meanwhile, William knelt between his two friends and clasped their hands in a firm grip.

"Are you two through scarin' the life outta me?" he chuckled, relieved to have them close once more.  

"For the moment," Marissa sighed.  She couldn't take her eyes off Gary's blanket-wrapped form.  He looked so pale under the dark covering.  "We still have a long way to go before we're out of here."

"We'll make it," Gary rasped weakly.  He seemed to be half between true consciousness and a sort of dream state.  "Got to.  Promised 'Rissa."

Mr. Roarke shook his head, evidently not happy with his doctor's report.  With a sigh, he turned and stared straight at Marissa, catching her troubled gaze with his own.  Coming to a decision, he strode over and knelt to face the shivering woman.

"Dr. Tanaka thinks that it would be best to fly Gary straight to a hospital in Sydney, Australia," he told her, speaking softly so as not to disturb their injured friend.  "As you have guessed, his condition is very serious, perhaps critical and his 'Golden Hour' is long past.  We must move swiftly if we are to save him."

"So, what are we waiting for?" Marissa murmured, struggling to rise.  "Let's get cracking!"

"There is a complication," Mr. Roarke sighed.  "If we are to reverse the . . . process that gave his sight to you, it must be done before the two of you leave the confines of this island, and while he still has some level of awareness.  Otherwise the exchange becomes permanent."

Marissa never even blinked.  "So do it," she told him, not understanding his hesitation.

"Mrs. Brown, there is a very good chance that . . ."

"He's going to make it," Marissa said, conviction strong in her voice.  She refused to consider the alternative.

"And if he doesn't?" Mr. Roarke pressed.  "He would want you to retain the gift he has given you."

"He-_is_-going-to-make-it!" Marissa growled out between clenched teeth.  Her borrowed eyes practically glowed with the intensity of her feelings.  "I won't accept anything less.  Now, let's do this."

With a sigh, that was equal parts despair and resignation, Mr. Roarke nodded his head.  He would have preferred that they wait until all of them were safely above ground, not looking forward to having two sightless people to worry about.  Gary's time was running out, however, and they might not have an opportunity later.  

Mr. Roarke pulled from his pocket the same bottle that he had used before.  Tilting Marissa's head back, he put two drops into each eye.  Kneeling next to Gary, he repeated the process as one of the islanders held the injured man's head still.  Mr. Roarke had to pry each eye open as Gary protested vehemently against his actions.

"Don't," he pleaded.  "Don't do this.  Please!"

"We have to, Gary," Marissa insisted.  "You don't want me having to take care of a baby _and_ the Paper, do you?  The cat will have a fit."

"S-someone else 'll get the . . . the Paper," he mumbled, trying to turn his head away.  "Don't waste this chance, 'Rissa.  Please!"

"No one else will get the Paper as long as you're alive," Marissa told him, taking his chin in one hand, and forcing him to face her.  "We both know that.  Are you telling me that you are going to die?  That you aren't going to fight for your life?  Are you going to make me fly back to Chicago and explain to your parents how I killed you?"

"Wh-what?  What are you . . .?"  Gary blinked reflexively as he tried to process what his friend was saying.  "That's bullsh--, a-and you know it!"

"Is it?" the petite dynamo pressed.  "You gave me your sight and I cursed you for it.  I took the most precious gift anyone's ever given me and slapped you in the face, calling you a selfish bastard.  I drove you into the arms of a demonic seductress who stripped you of more than just your clothes.  She took your will to live, and it's all my fault."

"Sh-she didn't . . . I don't _want_ to die," Gary insisted, his voice weak and uncertain.

"Then prove it," Marissa demanded, relentless.  "Take back your gift, and shoulder your responsibilities.  If you don't, then I'll _insist_ on taking up where you left off."

"No," Gary pleaded in a low whimper.  With an obvious effort, he turned his head toward her voice.  "I c-can't let you . . . Please?"

"Open your eyes, Gary."

"Please?"

"Gary Hobson," Marissa insisted softly.  "Open your eyes."

With a sigh that was more than half sob, Gary did as he was ordered.  Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes as he gave in to his best friend's demand.  

Gary didn't know what he _thought_ was going to happen.  They were a couple of hundred feet underground, with only flashlights for illumination.  Perhaps a slight lessening of the darkness, maybe a few glimmers of light.  He certainly wasn't expecting what happened as his mind slowly gave in to the pull of an even greater darkness.

Absolutely nothing.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Under the indirect lighting provided by the flashlights, Marissa watched as Gary's eyes changed from a deep, chocolate brown to a sort of translucent muddy green.  The process was working, she thought.  Then it hit her. 

She could still see.  

Their eyes had returned to normal, but she could still see.  Had something gone wrong?  Puzzled, she looked up to Mr. Roarke.

"What did you do?" she snapped.  "I told you that I don't _want_ this!  Not if it means . . ."

Mr. Roarke quickly knelt down, his grim expression silencing her.  Dr. Tanaka gently moved the young woman aside as he, too, crouched down to examine his patient.

"The exchange was incomplete," Mr. Roarke murmured, clearly perturbed.  "I am not a doctor, but it appears that everything has returned where it belongs except for the nerve center that controls sight.  It is that which was damaged by your illness as a child."

"Why didn't that switch back, also?" William asked, alarmed at his young cousin's plight, yet intrigued by this 'process.'

"Interference from this blasted mountain most likely," Bowler Hat grumbled.  "Or it could be due to his injuries.  The lad doesn't look as if he's entirely aware of what's going on."

"He's out of it." Dr. Tanaka sighed, sitting back on his heels.  Looking up, he motioned to his assistants.  "We better get moving," he added, standing to help his fellow islanders take up their burden.  "Time is critical."

"Critical?" William asked.  "You mean he . . . he could . . .?"

"He'll be lucky to make it to the plane," was the doctor's blunt reply.  He grimaced as he looked at Marissa's stricken face.  "I'm sorry," he told her.  "But we don't have time to sugarcoat this.  He's bleeding into his abdomen, and I'm worried about the possibility of a subdural hematoma, or worse, an epidural.  He could have a slow bleeder in there.  He also has several broken ribs and could be bleeding into the lungs.  The best we can do here is to get him stabilized, if he even makes it to the clinic.  We're just not set up to deal with these kinds of injuries," he added, with a significant look at his employer.  "We've never had to be, until now.  Truthfully, I'm surprised he's still with us.  This man is hanging on by a wish and a prayer."  He turned back to stare into Marissa's tearful gaze.  "Whatever else you do, pray harder."

As Marissa allowed William to help her to her feet, Mr. Roarke pulled the gentleman in the bowler hat aside for a whispered conference.

"Is there nothing you can do to help him?" he asked.

"I can buy him some time," Bowler Hat murmured dismally.  He watched as the bearers lifted Gary onto the next shelf.  "For the rest of it . . . he's still rocky, emotionally.  What I can or cannot do depends a great deal upon his state of mind.  If our young Mr. Hobson has any qualms about living, if he thinks that it would be better for all concerned to . . . pass on his burden, then my hands are tied."

"But why would he wish to die?" Mr. Roarke sighed.  "Could Kathleen have instilled her poison so deep within his soul that she has truly stolen his will to live?"

"I don't know," the Briton hissed angrily.  "She has definitely overstepped her bounds and will have to answer for that.  It also tips the scales on a certain cosmic wager that has been going on for a few millennia.  If he dies as a result, especially in what could be construed as a willing sacrifice, there could be an upheaval such as would make Armageddon seem like a childish squabble."

Mr. Roarke looked alarmed at this news.

"I had no idea he was so . . . highly regarded," he murmured.  

"It won't impinge upon this plane of existence," Bowler Hat hastened to assure his host.  "Not so that the average person would notice at any rate.  They might simply find that there is a little more . . . anger in the world.  Regardless, there will still be a very real need for people like our Mr. Hobson.  A great need."

"Then, by all means," Mr. Roarke nodded, "we must find a way to convince him of that."

Bowler Hat shook his head as they finally drifted along in the wake of the rescue party.  

"He can be most stubborn," the Briton chuckled.  "I may have to call in 'the big guns' as the Yanks like to say.  Perhaps an old acquaintance of his would be more persuasive."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Gary drifted in and out of consciousness as he was carried back to the surface.  Each time, he was greeted by agonizing pain in his head, his chest, and his hips.  He had long ago stopped feeling his arm. Because of the head injuries, the doctor was unable to give him anything for pain.  

Marissa was there every time Gary awakened, unable to suppress his painful moans.  She took his hand, assuring him that he was not alone, that she would not leave him.  She begged, bullied, and cajoled him to stay awake and to hang on, that everything would be all right.  For her sake, he said that he believed her, usually just before he drifted out once more.

Gary knew the truth, though.  They didn't think he had been able to hear them talking, but he had, and he knew that his time was running out.  He fought to stay awake, not because he had even one chance of making it, but because he still had so much he wanted to say, things that he had been afraid to say before, when it would mean opening up his heart and expressing his true feelings.  He wanted to thank Marissa for being his friend and believing in him, even when he had said or done things that pushed those bonds to the limit.  He wanted to tell her how much he admired her strength and determination, the moral fiber she possessed that always drove her to 'do something,' no matter how difficult the task.  He wanted to let her know how much he loved her and treasured her faith in him, sometimes pulling it about him like a comforting blanket, or a suit of armor to shield him from his own doubts.  

So much he wanted to say, and so little time.

There was also William, the man who had helped guide him through the last two years.  Who figuratively took him by the hand and supported him over the roughest parts.  A man Gary was proud to call friend, and now family.  

Gary also wanted to give them messages to pass on to his mom and dad, to his other cousins, especially Jake with whom he had formed a close bond.  He wanted them to know just how much he loved them and how sorry he was to hurt them in this way, or in any way.  He even had messages for his two favorite cops, Toni Brigatti and Paul Armstrong, especially Toni.  He wanted her to know that, even though she had taken advantage of him, that he held no ill will towards her.  On the contrary, he often wished that things had been different, that the two of them had been able to find some common ground on which to build their relationship.  But such was not meant to be.

Gary wanted to tell Paul how sorry he was to have to keep the tall, African-American cop in the dark as to how he knew so much, and yet, so little.  He wanted to apologize for all the trouble he had inadvertently caused.

There was also Zeke Crumb, his friend and, in many ways, a mentor.  Gary wanted to thank him, and tell him how much it meant to have been able to earn his trust, however grudgingly it had been given.

Miguel Diaz, Molly Green, so many others he wanted to say something, anything to, if only good-bye.

Meredith.  He wanted her to know how badly he had felt to see her go; how much he had wanted things to work out between them, and how happy he was that she had found someone who could give her what he could not.  He also wanted her to tell Geran about his real father someday, to let him know that he had not been abandoned by choice, but by the dictates of necessity.  Gary wanted his son to know how badly he had wanted to hold him close to his heart and never let him go.  How it had devastated Gary to know that he could not be a part of his child's life if he were to keep that child safe from harm.

He wanted to say all of that, and much, much more, but he barely had the strength to breathe.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

To William, the trip to the surface seemed to take forever as he was forced to listen to his young friend fight for every breath.  In reality, it only took less than half as long to go up as it did to come down.  The only tricky part had been climbing the narrow ledge with the stretcher.  The rest seemed to be just a matter of retracing their most direct path, which the cat was only too eager to sniff out.  

Marissa continued to murmur encouragements to Gary, even when she was certain that he had lapsed into unconsciousness again.  She prayed that, on some level, he could still hear her and fight to stay alive.  

They exited the underground labyrinth on a rocky ledge that led almost straight to the dock.  Making as much haste as they dared, the rescue party nonetheless tried to make the journey as comfortable as possible for the injured man.  Dr. Tanaka radioed ahead, getting the plane warmed up and essential supplies loaded aboard in preparation for their arrival.  He suffered no illusions that Hobson would survive, but the swarthy doctor was determined to give his patient every chance possible.  After all, this _was_ Fantasy Island.  Miracles had been known to happen.

Gary stirred as the warmth of the sun and a fragrant breeze caressed his face.  He forced his eyes open, not sure what to expect.  Marissa and Mr. Roarke had insisted, against his express wishes, on giving him back his sight.  He remembered the drops going into his eyes, and Marissa's voice entreating him to keep them open, but things got sort of fuzzy after that.  

"Din' work?" he whispered, straining to pierce the darkness.

"No, Gary," Marissa sighed, knowing instantly what he meant.  "It didn't work.  Mr. Roarke thinks we should try again when we get to the plane."

"S'okay," Gary murmured drowsily, his voice little more than a breathy sigh.  "Don' need an'way."

"Don't you say that, Gary Hobson," Marissa half snarled, half pleaded.  "You'll need to see when you get better, and you _will_ get better!  Do you hear me?"

"Yes'm," Gary mumbled as his eyes drifted shut.  He would say whatever she wanted him to say, for all the good it would do.  He knew the truth and strongly suspected that she did, too.  Marissa just never knew when to give up.

Marissa clung to Gary's hand as she shot the doctor a hopeful look.   She bit back a sob when he shook his head, not wanting give her false hope.  Refusing to concede that her friend was dying, she continued to speak to him in an encouraging tone.

"Of course you're going to make it," Marissa said, still glaring at the doctor, as if daring him to contradict her.  "It may take a while, but you'll be back on your feet and up to your neck in trouble before you know it."

"Umm," was Gary's only response.

"As articulate as ever, I see," Bowler Hat murmured from somewhere close to Gary's head.

The injured man blinked his eyes open, obviously struggling to remain alert.

"I know you," he rasped.  "D-don' I?"

"We've met, briefly," Bowler Hat confirmed.  He leaned down so that he was speaking almost directly into Gary's ear.  "I can't help you unless you allow me to," he murmured.  "Is your friend's sight worth your life?"

Gary did not answer, having already slipped back into the bottomless abyss.

"Dash it all," Bowler Hat grumbled as he straightened up.  "Almost had him."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"We don't have much time," Dr. Tanaka told them as they transferred Gary's still form to the gurney.  Three rows of seats had been removed from one side of the plane to make room for the narrow cot.  "If we can't wake him up by the time everything is loaded, we'll just have to forget it.  Better blind than dead."

As Mr. Roarke helped William into his seat, Marissa knelt down next to the cot and took Gary's face in both hands.  She patted his cheeks, gently at first, then more insistently as he proved difficult to rouse.

"C'mon, Gary," she said loudly.  "You have to wake up so we can do this.  Listen to me, Gary Hobson!  You have to wake up!"

"That may be why it didn't work before," William murmured.  "He probably passed out before the reversal was complete."

"A very real possibility," Mr. Roarke conceded.  He turned to look about the crowded plane.  "There will only be room for Dr. Griner, Mrs. Brown, and Dr. Tanaka to accompany Mr. Hobson, I'm afraid.  The co-pilot is also trained as a medic and may be of some assistance as needed, but you and I must remain behind," he informed Bowler Hat.  

"I'm not sure I like that at all," the Briton murmured, turning a questioning gaze on William.

"In your dreams," the sightless man snorted, sensing the intense scrutiny.  "He's my friend, my patient, and he's family.  I'm not leaving him."

"And neither am I," Marissa added her voice to his.  Her eyes never left Gary's face.  "Gary, I need you to open your eyes!"

"Why?" a quiet voice rasped, startling her.  "Can't see nothin'."

"You will if you open those beautiful eyes of yours," Marissa insisted.

That elicited a tiny grin from Gary as he struggled to obey. 

"Gonna make . . . make Emmett jealous," he whispered.  

"Not a chance," Marissa chuckled in relief.  "I'll tell him I heard it from Brigatti."

"Don't!"  Gary's laugh turned into a moan, making him clutch at his sides as the action sent pain shooting through his abdomen.  "That was cruel!"

"I can be cruel when I have to," Marissa reminded him.  "Now, open those eyes."

"Simon LeGree was a piker next to you," Gary mumbled as he forced his eyes to open.

Marissa held his sightless gaze until the last of the equipment was loaded and Mr. Roarke was forced to step out of the crowded compartment.  Every time it looked as if Gary might be wavering, she brought him back with a snap, just by saying his name in her most demanding voice.  It was no use.  For whatever reason, she could still see . . . and Gary couldn't.  Finally conceding defeat, Marissa took her seat and fastened herself in.  Only then did she allow the tears to come.

The moment they were safely airborne, Dr. Tanaka was out of his seat and checking Gary's vital signs.  Marissa could tell from his grim expression that he did not like the results.  A second IV was started in the other arm, doubling the amount of fluids being given in a vain effort to maintain his falling blood pressure.

Gary seemed to sense her spiraling mood because he turned his head as best he could to face her.

"S'okay," he told her.  "I'm . . . I'm not givin' up.  W-wanna hold my first god-baby.  Y-you promised they'd . . . they'd call me . . . 'Uncle Gary.'"

"And they will," Marissa promised.  "Even if I have a dozen."

"A dozen!" William snorted.  "Ouch!  Hey, Gary.  When we get back home, you'll need some occupational therapy.  You know, heighten your navigational skills, learn Braille, stuff like that.  If you don't mind, I'd like you to get that from me.  With Marissa's help, of course."

Gary started to say that it wouldn't be necessary, that he wasn't likely to live long enough to need it.  He quickly realized that, while he may have given up hope, his friends were still desperately hanging on to it, so he decided to play along.

"That'd be great," he whispered.  "K-keep it in the family."

"Well, you two better get on it as soon as we get back," Marissa replied with a muffled sniffle.  "I'm gonna need a lot of help with that blasted Paper."

"Ouch!" Gary mumbled with a rueful grimace.  "F'got 'bout that."

"Also," Marissa continued, "unless it starts coming in Braille, I'm gonna have to learn to read print."

"Double ouch," William chuckled.  "The only one of us that can see, and she can't read!"

"I can too read!" Marissa snorted indignantly.  "I just can't read print!  I know letters by their shape, but it's going to take me a while to learn to translate the shape into the letter."

"We are so screwed," Gary chuckled, grabbing his sides as his laughter turned into painful coughing.

"Okay," Dr. Tanaka stepped in, trying to mask his concern behind gentle scolding.  "That's enough of that.  If you can't play nice . . ."

"Killjoy," Gary mumbled.  He seemed more relaxed, though, which the doctor saw as a good sign.  Reluctantly, the physician moved back to his seat, giving his tacit permission for them to continue.  "Somebody wanna tell me where we're goin'?"

"Australia," William replied.  "Sydney, to be exact.  Ever been there before?"

"No," Gary murmured, his interest picking up.  "What's it look like?"

"Don't know," Marissa sighed.  "We just lifted off about thirty minutes ago.  All I can see out there is water.  Lots and lots of water."

"No dolphins?"  

Marissa had to smile at the petulant note of disappointment in Gary's voice.

"Sorry, Gary.  No dolphins."

"You keep hanging in there for us," Dr. Tanaka spoke up, "and I'll take you to a place famous for its dolphins.  Wild dolphins that'll swim right up to you and let you touch them."

"Really?" Gary asked hopefully.

"Really," Dr. Tanaka promised.  "By the dozen.  Deal?"

Whatever reply Gary was going to make was cut off as the plane gave a violent lurch, the engine sputtering erratically.

"Seatbelts, everyone," the pilot called back.  "We've got problems."

"No sh--," Dr. Tanaka grumbled as he quickly made his way forward.  "We've got a critically injured man back here.  You got a bigger problem than that?"

"How about a bird in the intake?" the pilot retorted.  "A honkin' big albatross, to be exact.  No air, the fuel has no oxygen to burn.  No burn, the engine can't turn over, and no lift.  We are about to become a very expensive glider.  All I can do is look for a place to land and clear the obstruction."

"This is a pontoon plane," the doctor pointed out.  "You have a whole ocean to land on."

"And killer waves to knock us over and sink us," the pilot pointed out.  "Not to mention that I failed the class where we learned to walk on water. A sheltered lagoon would be much better, but I'll settle for just a good stretch of beach.  Look, there are hundreds of small islands for us to choose from and I'm gonna set us down near the first one I see with a beach, so get back there and fasten yourself in.  Without power, I can't make any guarantees as to how smooth this baby's gonna set down."

Dr. Tanaka needed no further convincing.  Hurrying back to his seat, he hastened to obey the voice of experience.

"What's wrong?" Marissa asked.  "Are we in trouble?"

"You remember what I said back in the caverns?" he asked nervously.  "About praying harder?"

"Yes," Marissa murmured uncertainly.  "Why?"

"Could you teach me a few?  I think we need to double up."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The landing was every bit as rough as their pilot had feared.  By the time he was able to wrestle the plane onto a small, secluded beach the sun was in just the right position to reflect glaringly from the foam-flecked surface, concealing the rock that tore a jagged hole in the starboard pontoon.  It took all that he and his co-pilot could do to keep the small plane from flipping over and killing them all.

Her mouth was dry with the bitter taste of fear, but Marissa finally managed to swallow, pushing her heart back down into her chest where it belonged.  Still, she was afraid to open her eyes.  

"Marissa?"

'Breathe,' she reminded herself.  'You have to breathe.  C'mon, girl. You can do it.  Air goes in, air goes out.  Breathe.'

"Marissa?"

'Hands.  Do I still have hands?' Marissa mused.  'I can't feel them!  _Where are my hands?'_

"Marissa, you're gonna have to let go of my hand."  William's voice finally penetrated the fog of panic enveloping Marissa's mind.  "My fingers are goin' numb."

"Wh-what?" the frightened young woman finally murmured.  "Hand?  Wha . . . Oh!  I'm sorry!  I-I don't . . . are we down?  A-are we . . . are we . . . safe?"

"I dunno," William shrugged nonchalantly.  "Why don't you open your eyes and tell me?"

That was when Marissa finally realized that she had closed her eyes, retreating into the comforting darkness in which she had grown up; a world more familiar to her, and much safer, than the sighted one.  Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her right eye.  When nothing jumped out to attack her, she allowed the left one to open.

"We, um, we seem to've landed," she murmured softly, finally releasing her death grip on her companion's hand.  "Sorry."

"No problem," William smiled, wincing slightly as he flexed his fingers.  "I've been party to some pretty rough landings in my youth.  How's Gary?"

"Been better," a soft voice mumbled.

Dr. Tanaka was already out of his seat, checking over his patient.  While reading facial expressions was still new to her, Marissa could tell that he was not thrilled with the results of his examination.  Carefully, he pulled the blanket back up to Gary's chin.

"You just relax, Gary," the swarthy doctor murmured, patting the younger man on the shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.  "Joe and Ethan just need to get that bird out of the intake and we'll be back in the air before you know it."  As he spoke, Dr. Tanaka was changing out the IV bags, both of which had almost run out.  He looked into the box of supplies and frowned.  Always ready for the unexpected, he still had to wonder if they had packed enough IVs to last if they had to stay the night.  

If Gary lasted until nightfall, that is.

The cat chose that moment to slink out of concealment and climb onto Gary's cot.  Settling itself next to Gary's right side, it laid its head on the human's arm and closed its eyes.  Dr. Tanaka, aware of the special relationship between the two, made no objection.  If the animal could provide even a small measure of comfort, then who was he to deny it?

"Hey, buddy," Gary murmured softly, his voice weak and raspy.  "Where ya been?"

The cat's only reply was a low moan. 

"Yeah," Gary sighed.  "Me, too."

The pilot, Joe, chose that moment to step back into the cabin and deliver the 'good news.'

"Ethan and I are gonna set up the tents," he told them.  "The intake is a mess and will take at least an hour to clean out.  It also managed to bend the prop, foul the fuel line, and a few other assorted problems, including the radio.  Then we have that pontoon to patch."  He looked down at the injured man and grimaced.  "Sorry, Doc," he murmured in a softer tone.  "We're grounded for the night, at least."

Marissa's heart sank as her gaze flickered between the two despondent men.

"What does that mean for Gary?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"It means we make him as comfortable as possible," Dr. Tanaka sighed as he straightened from his crouch by Gary's side.  "We try to keep his pressure, and his spirits, up.  It's all we can do," the swarthy physician added at her stricken look.  "I'm sorry."

There was a moment of stunned silence as the meaning of his words penetrated the fog that seemed to have settled permanently in Marissa's mind.  This couldn't be happening.  It was all wrong!  Gary couldn't be dying, not like this!  Not over some stupid bird with lousy eyesight!  Gary was special!  He had a destiny and . . . and a responsibility!  That was it!  She could play on that stubborn sense of responsibility and make him hang on!  She could _make_ him live!

_"You can't . . . can't stop Death.  I know.  I've tried."_

Was it just hours ago that Gary had said those words to her?  A sudden feeling of hopelessness washed over Marissa as she sank back into her seat.

Gary was dying and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The sun was low on the distant horizon as they carried Gary from the downed plane.  He had been drifting in and out of consciousness and was currently somewhere in between when a shrill whistling caught his attention.  Struggling to remain awake, Gary pleaded with his bearers to set him down.

There it was again, a piping whistle followed by chortling laughter and a loud splash.  

"Gary, we need to get you inside," Marissa told him as she knelt by his side.  "It's going to get cool when . . . when the sun goes down."

"N-no," Gary pleaded.  "Can't . . . can't you hear 'em?"

"Hear what, Gary?" Dr. Tanaka asked, looking around.  Did he hear a plane?  Should they send up a flare, maybe?

"The dolphins!" Gary rasped.  "Th-they're dancing!  So close!  C-can't you _see_ them?"

Looking out toward the open bay, Dr. Tanaka shook his head.  He exchanged a troubled look with the two pilots, clearly thinking that his patient was hallucinating.

"The bay is empty, Gary," Marissa sighed, hating to disappoint her friend.  "There aren't any dolphins."

"B-but . . . I can _hear_ 'em so . . . so clear," Gary sighed.  "T-take me . . . to . . . to the water.  Please?"

"It's going to be dark soon," Dr. Tanaka tried to reason, wanting to get his patient settled in as quickly as possible.

"What does that matter to us?" William countered, siding with his cousin.  In a much softer voice he added, "You said it yourself.  The man is dying.  Let him do it by the water if that what he wants."

Marissa started to argue, still not willing to accept Gary's imminent demise so readily.  Then she saw the cat leap from the plane and run down to the water line.  Dancing back and forth to keep out of the encroaching waves, it nonetheless kept its emerald eyes aimed at the open sea.  Occasionally, it would let out a loud, moaning cry, almost as if it were calling to something. 

"Well, I'll be damned," Joe murmured, lowering the binoculars that he had been using to scan the distance.  "He's right.  There's a school of about fifteen, twenty dolphins headed this way.  I don't see how he could've heard 'em from this distance, though."

The small group watched in amazement as the dolphins practically exploded through the open arms of the bay half an hour later, some swimming, others leaping high into the air, others 'dancing' on the wave tops.  All were chattering away in their arcane language of clicks, whistles and something that sounded like laughter. 

Gary had finally persuaded them to set his litter as close to the water as possible, on a rocky outcrop just high enough to avoid the salty spray.  To help ease his breathing, Marissa sat behind him, cradling him against her.  Her arms wrapped around his chest just tight enough to keep him upright.  They sat that way, she watching the dazzling display of aquatic acrobatics, while Gary just listened to the exuberant noise and filled in the blanks with his fertile imagination.  He let out a gasping laugh as one of the dolphins let out a loud squeal before splashing them with a slap of its tail.

"How did you know?" Marissa asked, mesmerized yet still concerned for her dearest friend.  "They were so far away!  How could you possibly hear them?"

"Jus' did," Gary murmured.  His voice sounded weak, little more than a breathy whisper as his strength began to fade.  "Talk to me," he whispered.  "T-tell me . . . what you . . . what you see."

"You mean the dolphins?" 

"Everything," he sighed.  "The dolphins, the sky at sunset, the water, all of it.  Let me see through your eyes."

It was such a small request, Marissa decided.  How often had he done the same for her?

"They're like children," she told him, her mouth close to his ear so that he could hear her soft voice over the sounds of the dolphins.  "Sleek, shiny children just bursting with . . . with life and energy.  The sun is just touching the horizon and their wet skins are reflecting all the colors of a gorgeous sunset.  The sky and water are blazing with bright, vibrant hues and these amazing children are flying and dancing among the flames.  I-I don't know if I have words to describe it, Gary.  It's so beautiful!"

"You're doin' fine" Gary whispered.  "H-how many, do ya think?"

"At least a dozen, maybe two," Marissa replied, her voice reflecting her growing confusion.  "Or more.  It looks like there's twice as many as there were a few minutes ago."  She looked past the cavorting sea mammals to see even more dorsal wakes flying as straight as arrows for their tiny island.  "What's going on?  Did we land at 'Dolphin Central' or something?"

"'Rissa," Gary sighed.  "I-I need . . . I need you ta do somethin' for me. 's 'portant.  Y-ya gotta promise you'll do this."

"Anything, Gary," Marissa told her dearest friend.  "Anything you want."

"N-need you to . . . to go t' Wash'ton, D.C." he told her, his voice fading with each breath.  "F-find Mer'dith . . . Mer'dith Carson.  O-only it's Chis-Chisholm now.  T-tell her wh-what . . . what happened."

"Gary . . ."

"Promise me!" he insisted, forcing each word out between tightly clenched teeth.  The pain was almost overwhelming.  

"I promise," Marissa told him, her own voice tight with emotion.

"Tell her . . . how much I wish . . . I wish things had been different."  Gary was panting now, each word costing him dearly.  "Ah, God!  T-tell her . . . tell her how much . . . how much I wanted us . . . to raise o-our son . . . together.  Promise me!"

Marissa was almost too stunned to react.  A son?  Gary thought that he and Meredith Carson had a son together?  She began to realize that her friend was truly dying.  He was beginning to hallucinate.

"Tell Geran," he gasped.  "Tell him . . . that I loved him e-even though . . . even if I never got to . . . to hold him.  Um, Jake.  J-Jake can help . . . help you find them.  H-he knows . . . Y-you gotta promise me, 'Rissa!"

"I promise, Gary," Marissa sobbed.  "But you can tell her all of this yourself.  All you have to do is . . . just hang on! Please!"

"How's he doing?"

Marisa turned her tear-streaked face up to see Dr. Tanaka scrambling to join them on their rocky perch.  The physician tossed his bag of instruments onto the shelf before hauling himself over the lip.

"He's getting weaker," Marissa told him candidly, knowing that Gary could hear her, and that he was more aware of his condition than she was.

Dr. Tanaka nodded as he checked the IVs on their makeshift stands.  They had plenty of replacements.  He just wondered how many they would actually need.  The tall islander had no illusions as to his patient's chances.  'Hell,' he sighed to himself, 'it's a miracle he's lasted this long.'

"'m tired," Gary murmured drowsily.  In spite of his best efforts, his eyelids were getting too heavy to keep open.

Marissa looked up at the doctor as he checked Gary's heart and lungs.  Her own heart felt as heavy as lead when he silently shook his head.  It wouldn't be much longer.  Steeling herself, Marissa fought to keep her voice steady, not wanting Gary to feel her pain in addition to his own.

"That's okay, Gary," she told him.  "You . . . you need to rest for a while, anyway."

Gary murmured something unintelligible as he let his eyes slide shut.  He was so tired.  All the pain had finally retreated to a sort of dull ache, a gray area that didn't really seem to be a part of him anymore.  He still felt the need to breathe, but even that wasn't enough to hold him.  Gradually, his whole world shrank down to just the feel of the wind and sun on his face, the warmth of Marissa's arms, and the sound of the waves fading into the distance.

Something was missing.  Where were the dolphins?

His voice was so soft and low, Marissa almost missed his question.  Bending closer, she asked Gary to repeat it.

"Wh-where'd they go?" he breathed.  "Th-the dolphins.  G-gone?"

"They're still here, Gary," Marissa told him, unable to stop the tears as they slid down her cheeks and into his hair.  "They've . . . They're all just . . . floating, staring at us.  I-it's like they're waiting for . . . for something to happen."

"Oh," Gary sighed.  "Sshouldn't . . . shouldn't keep 'em waitin', I guess."  He took a long, shuddering breath, letting it out in a pain-filled sigh.  "Y-you'll tell . . . Mom 'n' Dad . . . I was thinkin' of 'em, a-an' I love 'em?"

"Gary, don't," Marissa sobbed.  "Please don't."

"Love you, 'Rissa."

And he was gone.  No last gasp, not even a sigh.  Just a sudden, inexorable stillness that was suddenly shattered by a long moaning cry.  As if the cat's lamentation was a signal, every dolphin in the now crowded bay sent up a shrill cry of despair.  Startled, Marissa and the others looked around to see a myriad of sleek, glistening heads extending far beyond the lagoon, each one adding its high-pitched voice in a universal cry of sorrow.

Gary Hobson was gone, and there was nothing they could do to bring him back.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

He could see again.  But it was a gift that came with a price.

Gary watched as they scrambled to carry his limp form down to the beach and begin their futile efforts to restart his heart.  It was a scene that, in this place, he could recall seeing so many times.  He wondered if this would be the last time, or if something would happen to intercede . . . again.

Looking down at himself, he was relieved to see that at least he would not have to traipse off into the Hereafter in his birthday suit.  He appeared to be wearing his familiar garb of t-shirt, jeans, and his most comfortable pair of Reeboks.  His black leather jacket gave him the illusion of added warmth, completing his attire.

Watching his friends, both old and new, fighting to call him back, Gary sighed.  His pain was over, while theirs was just beginning.

"It doesn't have to be, you know."

If Gary had any doubts as to whether or not he could feel anything in this place, they were quickly erased as that sultry voice sent a chill up his spine.  Spinning around, he found himself face to face with . . . Kathleen, Satan's spawn . . . and she wasn't alone.

At first, he was just a tall, slender man with familiar, if indistinct features.  He wore a dark suit that was far too expensive-looking to be 'off the rack.'  Even the way he carried himself spoke of wealth and assurance beyond measure.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble," Gary snorted, unfazed by this new player.  He waved a hand at the dismal scene playing out on the beach.  "You did this, you know.  You drove me onto that ledge.  It wasn't my choice to step out there, or to fall.  Did that ledge really just give way, or was that your doing, too?"

"I'll admit that I . . . overplayed my hand," Kathleen simpered, taking a hesitant step in Gary's direction, "but you left me little choice."

"You could've taken 'no' for an answer," Gary shot back, stepping away from her grasp.  

"And I should have," she quickly agreed, halting her advance.  "That's why we're heah, to offer you a chance to . . . to undo all of this."

"She's right," that new entity murmured in a voice so like Gary's that it could have issued from his own throat.  "None of this should have happened.  My . . . over eager associate here has definitely stepped outside the rules . . ."

"Broken them you mean," Gary grumbled, not to be deterred.  He stared daggers at the stranger that now wore his face.  "I thought your kind could only coerce or persuade, use our own weaknesses against us.  This . . . thing," he added, waving a hand in Kathleen's direction, "was ready to rape me if she couldn't get what she wanted any other way.  When even that didn't work, she killed me."

"That's not fair," Kathleen pouted, slinking behind her companion.  "You died from yoah injuries."

"That you inflicted," Gary hotly reminded her.  

"That's beside the point," Kathleen sniffed disdainfully, trying to dismiss his argument as irrelevant.

"Sorry, my dear," the other murmured with a sly smile.  He sauntered forward a few steps as he spoke.  "I'm afraid that _is_ the point.  What you did was clearly beyond your bounds, and we all know it.  Now, we must reach some kind of accord with our young friend here, so that we may 'get things back on track' so to speak."

For every step either of them took forward, Gary took one back, maintaining the distance between them without actually retreating.  

"The only thing I want from you is your absence," he told them.  "I think you've done enough harm.  Don't you?"

"But we can undo all of this," Kathleen told him.  As she spoke, she strolled around her cohort, trailing a hand across his broad chest as she kept one eye on Gary, as if stroking him by proxy.  "We can turn the clock back as far as you like.  Back to the day you first saw that ad, or," she added, stepping behind the doppelganger, "even before you ever got that paper.  We can give you back everything that rag took from you."

"Even me."

The figure that stepped into sight was the very image of Marcia, a softer, gentler Marcia with eyes that seemed to glow with love.

Or hunger.

"We could be good together, Gary," she murmured in Marcia's voice.  "We could go back to before I ever started law school.  I'd give you strong sons and beautiful daughters.  Life could be everything you ever wanted it to be."

Gary wasn't buying it.  Not for one minute did he believe that they could give him back the life he had lost before the Paper ever landed on his doorstep.  Even if they could, would he want it?  True, it had caused him a lot of pain and suffering, but look at what he had accomplished with it!  A presidential assassination had been foiled, a murder for hire scheme exposed.  He had saved hundreds, perhaps thousands that would otherwise have died or suffered needlessly.  He had helped others come to terms with the tragedies that he had not been able to avert, and with amazing abilities that rivaled the miracle of the Paper.

"And I'd still be working for that weasel-faced slave-driver and having to wear that damned tie.  No thank you."  

"Let's not be so hasty," that other chuckled, certain that he had found a chink in Gary's armor.  He waved a hand at 'Marcia' and 'Meredith Carson' stood in her place.  "What about the mother of your only child?  The woman that you were certain was 'the one.'  Don't you sometimes wonder what your life together could have been like?"

Seeing the image of Meredith was like an electric shock.  The depth of his feelings for the woman who had stolen his heart, and betrayed his trust, still frightened him.  Gary was not one to give himself to just any warm body.  Love, for him, was not just a physical act; it was more than just the union of two bodies, but also two souls who were meant to be together.

As he and Meredith were not.

"Gasoline on water," Gary snapped, trying to hide his alarm at this entity's knowledge of Geran.  "And the Paper was like a lit match.  Plus, I never would've met her if it wasn't for the Paper."

'Meredith' was quickly replaced with 'Toni Brigatti.'

If Gary had been sitting down, he would have fallen off his chair.  Had these guys been paying attention at all the past few years?  The fiery detective was slender, petite, and absolutely one of the most beautiful women he had ever known.  The few times they had shared a kiss, it had been . . . incredible.  He had almost been consumed by the smoldering passion that lay just beneath the surface.  But she also had a driving need to be in control at all times.  To the world at large, she presented a tough as nails persona, all the while hiding the lonely, vulnerable woman who felt just as empty inside as he did.

This 'Brigatti' gave him a look of adoration, a far cry from the stormy, sometimes openly hostile gaze she usually turned on him.  There was no steel to this false image.  It was not _his_ 'Toni Brigatti.'

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, having quickly regained his composure.

Suddenly, 'Erica Paget' stood before him, blonde hair glistening in the mists, blue eyes twinkling with her familiar impish smile.

"What about me?" she purred seductively.  "You could have me and be a father to Henry, too.  Everything you ever wanted . . . in one package."

"Yeah," Gary chortled derisively.  "But you'd have to be part of that package.  You and all of your little put-downs and snide remarks.  No, thank you."

"My, you _are_ a hard sell," the stranger murmured.  A snap of his fingers replaced 'Erica' with . . . 'Nick Sterling!'

"Oh, now that's sick!" Gary snapped, backing away with a look of revulsion.  "Just what kinda game are you playin' here?"

"Nothing like that, I assure you," that other chuckled.  "But haven't you ever wished, just for a moment, that you were in his shoes?  He also helps people, but he does it openly and garners accolades by the bushel!  Yet he never has to risk his life, only time and money.  We could do that for you.  Give you all the wealth and power to change the world to your satisfaction.  Wouldn't you like that?"

For just a fleeting second, Gary was tempted.  That was all, just tempted.  The world had plenty of people to pick up the pieces _after_ disaster happened.  The Paper had let him get there _before__._  That was the difference.  He vividly recalled the woman who was about to spend an heirloom nickel worth over a million dollars so that her children would have milk and bread.  If he had not stepped in, another would have profited from her loss and those same children would still be hungry.  That and countless other similar instances made his choice a snap.

"Go to Hell," he told them.  "You don't have anything I want."

The false 'Gary' fixed the real one with a smoldering gaze, his mouth turned up in a thin smile that fell far short of those glimmering eyes.

"You want us to go home so soon?" he asked in a lazy drawl, reminding the real Gary of a song that had been very popular when he was little more than a boy.  Maybe Johnny Cash knew more than he had let on when singing 'The Devil Went Down To Georgia!'  "Such manners!  I'm sure your saintly mother never taught you to be so rude!" the fiendish entity snarled.  His voice deepened, becoming more guttural as he took a menacing step forward.  "Why, we've barely gotten to know each other!"

As the real Gary Hobson watched, fascinated, the face on that 'other Gary' began to change, becoming leaner, darker . . . and more sinister.  Anger radiated from that demonic visage . . . anger and hatred so strong that Gary could almost feel the heat from where he 'stood.'

"There _must_ be some way we can . . . make amends," that other growled, sounding more threatening than appeasing.  

Looking into those blazing eyes, Gary wondered if it would hurt when his soul was incinerated.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind," Gary told them, finding a small kernel of victory when his voice didn't crack.

"You heard the man," a familiar voice stated from behind Gary.  "Get lost."

Gary didn't know if he could break anything in his present state, but he sure gave it a good try as he spun on one foot to face this newest apparition.  He didn't know why he should be surprised to see his old friend, Andrew.  After all, he was the Angel of Death, and Gary _was_ dead.

Wasn't he?

"You can't have him," that other 'Gary' snarled.  "We still have 'business' to discuss."

"You're a fine one to talk," Andrew snorted in his soft Southern drawl.  "The way you two play fastball with the rules is pathetic.  First, you kill the man, then you try to 'make amends?'  Give me a break!"

"This is none of your affair," Kathleen hissed, once again in her own form.  "He's still fair game."

The blonde haired angel sauntered forward to stand beside a very befuddled Gary, his white suit almost glowing in the ethereal sunset.

"You made it my business when you killed him," Andrew reminded them.  "You directly interfered with the course of his life.  Even _we_ have to get special permission to do that, which is rarely given.  Now, go on before we have to bring this up before the 'Arbitrator.'  You _are_ aware that this could be construed as forfeiture of 'The Wager,' aren't you?"

Gary watched in stunned silence as the other entity's face seemed to . . . melt, flowing into the dark, swarthy features of something . . . evil.  Fire literally blazed from those soulless eyes, promising retribution.

"We will meet again, Mr. Hobson," he snarled in a cold, hollow voice.  "This is far from over."  Without so much as a blink of those demonic eyes, he and Kathleen vanished in a flash of light, leaving behind the stink of sulfur.

Gary wrinkled his nose and waved his hand to dispel the fumes.

"He needs to cut back on the spicy foods," he murmured.  A snort of laughter drew Gary's attention back to his visitor.  "So," he sighed.  "Is this it?  Have I bid my last farewell to my family and friends?  Or are you here to play 'Let's Make A Deal' too?"

"No deals," Andrew told him with a gentle smile.  "More in the way of compensating you for your loss.  None of this," he added, waving his hand toward the grim scene on the beach, "was supposed to happen.  Kathleen was only supposed to tempt you by offering what your heart most desired.  Instead, she gave in to _her_ desires, and let her frustration and hunger get the best of her."

"_I'll_ say!" Gary snorted, staring downwards.

William was holding a sobbing Marissa as Dr. Tanaka helped Joe and Ethan load the blanket-draped litter bearing Gary's mortal remains back aboard the plane.  The cat paced back and forth on the rocks overlooking the water, the place where Gary had died, while a host of dolphins raised their voices in a chorus of lamentation.

"What's with the dolphins?" he asked, trying not to look at his friends.  He thought that, being dead, he could no longer feel pain.  He was wrong.  

"They came to pay their respects," Andrew told him.  "Did you think that Guardians only walked the land?  Think about it," he chuckled at Gary's stunned look.  "Haven't you ever heard those stories of Dolphins helping shipwrecked sailors, or guiding ships to safety?"

"Wow," Gary murmured softly, gazing at the aquatic mammals with a new sense of kinship and respect.  "I guess I never thought about it in those terms.  Dolphins, huh?  No wonder I've always felt . . . I don't know, fascinated by them."

Reluctantly, Gary turned his attention back to his friends . . . his family.  William still held Marissa close, although her sobs had been reduced to sniffles and hiccups.  It hurt Gary to see her like that, so devastated by his loss.  He had known that she cared for him, that he had never known a truer friend, still . . .

"So, what kind of 'compensation' are we talking about," he sighed.

"It would be kind of a mixed blessing," Andrew told him, putting one arm about Gary's shoulders as he gently forced the mortal to look away from the scene of his death.  "Because of . . . extenuating circumstances . . ."

"You mean Kathleen trying to jump my bones," Gary grumbled.

Andrew was having a hard time keeping a straight face, chewing his lower lip as he fought not to laugh.

"Um, something like that," he admitted.  "As I was about to say, the purpose behind your little excursion was supposed to be a sort of 'eye-opening' experience for Mrs. Brown, not a punishment.  It was Kathleen who . . . altered the last part of the fantasy to make it harsher than it might have been.  She was also directly manipulating Mrs. Brown's emotions, enhancing the extent of her reactions."

"That makes sense," Gary murmured, thinking back to Marissa's emotional explosion the day before.  "Marissa usually doesn't go off half-cocked like that."

"No, she doesn't," Andrew agreed.  "Because of that, her memories of what happened will be altered slightly, while yours and Dr. Griner's will remain intact.  But you won't be remembering it as something that _has_ happened, but as more of a shared dream.  Of the three of you, only you would know the truth."

"W-wait," Gary said, figuratively 'digging in his heels.'  "If you can make us forget, why do we have to remember any of this at all?"

"Think about it, Gary," Andrew replied with a sad smile.  "Do you really want to have to live all of this over again?"

Gary thought about it, very briefly.  With a shudder, he let Andrew guide him into a swirling mist.  Then it hit him.  Again?

"Howzat?  Wh-whadaya mean, _again?_"

_(Author's note:  For the reader who was hoping Gary would not be hurt in this story, sorry about that.  I think you'll like the ending, though.)_


	4. Full Circle

In spite of the warm climate and the shelter provided by the tent, Marissa spent a cold, restless night.  Not even huddling into William's strong arms brought her any comfort.  She could not tear her mind away from the blanket-draped form that resided in the plane.  

Gary was dead, and she had killed him.

They all had tried to assure her that she wasn't to blame, that other factors had conspired to drive Gary to his death, but Marissa knew better.  If she had not attacked him, or had at least given him half a chance to defend himself, then none of them would be lying there in the darkness, waiting to ferry his mortal remains back for a proper burial.  At least she had been able to change that much.  Gary would not have to suffer the anonymous indignity of a pauper's grave.  

When the sun finally forced the soul-weary party to face the new day, it was to find that Dr. Tanaka was already up and tending to a large fire.  As they watched, he tossed a canvas bag into the flames, making sure that the smoke drifted away from the tents and the plane.

"I had to clean him up," the swarthy physician explained with a shrug.  "When . . . when all the muscles relax then the body kinda . . . kinda lets everything go.  I didn't think you wanted to remember your friend that way."

Touched by this show of compassion, Marissa placed a trembling hand on the doctor's arm, favoring him with a tearful smile.

"Thank you," she murmured.  "And thank you for all that you did for him.  I know that you did everything that you could."

"It just wasn't enough," Dr. Tanaka sighed as he turned to help take down the tents.  "Even if we'd made it to Sydney," he added with a sad shake of his shaggy head, "I'm not sure they could've saved him.  The poor guy was just . . . I really don't know how he hung on as long as he did."

"Gary is . . . was . . . one of the strongest people I ever knew," Marissa told him.  "It never seemed to matter how intimidating an obstacle might be.  Eventually, he always found a way to do whatever it was he had to do, or the strength to accept the outcome of his few failures.  He . . . he was a good man."

"I'm sure he was," Dr. Tanaka returned her smile.  "We doctors seldom meet people under the best of circumstances, but he really seemed like someone I'd have been proud to get to know."

"Gary was . . . unique," William murmured softly, cautiously making his way to them.  "I don't think I've ever met anyone like him in my life."

"How do you mean?" Dr. Tanaka asked, hoping to get to know more about the man he had treated . . . and lost.  

William let Marissa guide him to a seat on a rocky outcrop as he marshaled his thoughts.  How far, he wondered, did the doctor/patient confidentiality go in a case like this?

"He was a bundle of contradictions," the sightless therapist finally sighed.  It hurt to speak of his friend, his cousin, in the past tense.  "Gary was so willing to reach out to strangers, yet hesitant to open up to even his closest friends.  It was easy to trust Gary, yet he was afraid to trust in return.  He wanted, needed to heal all the hurts of the world, but carried his own pain so deep inside that he thought no one else could see it.  But even a blind man like me could tell.  He desperately wanted a home, family, something resembling a normal life, yet he couldn't if he felt that others would suffer because of his 'selfishness.'  Gary was just a damned . . . good man," he finished in a choked voice.

The three of them sat there in companionable silence as the bundle of soiled linens burned down to ashes, none of them wanting to board the now repaired plane too soon and face that shrouded stretcher.  Finally, the last traces of those ignominious remains were gone and the fire was covered with a few shovels-full of wet sand.  

No more excuses; it was time to go.

The flight back to Fantasy Island was accomplished in grim silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.  William had to wonder if his presence had impeded the search party too much.  What if they had reached Gary before he was forced onto that damnable ledge?  Or if they had, at least, found the right passage sooner?  Had he really helped in that regard at all?  He berated himself for not stopping Marissa's angry tirade, knowing that each word was cutting into Gary like a knife; also knowing that Marissa was beyond reason, that she had almost no control over the vitriolic expletives that spewed from her mouth.  If only he had gotten to Gary before the younger man regained his feet and went stumbling off into the darkness that had enveloped his soul!  William firmly believed that Gary would still be alive, if only his therapist had been able to see well enough to reach him in time.

Marissa was equally certain that all the blame lay squarely on her shoulders.  She was the reason that Gary had wanted to come to Fantasy Island in the first place.  He had wanted to give her a gift equal to his love for her, to show her how much he valued their friendship.  What had she done but throw that gift back in his face and accuse him of dumping all of his responsibilities on her!  She would never forget the look on his face as he lay at her feet, cringing as each spiteful word cut straight to his heart.  Yet, as he lay dying, he had forgiven her with his last breath.

_"Love you, 'Rissa."_

Marissa knew that those three words would haunt her for the rest of her life.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It was a solemn group that trudged down to the lagoon as the plane made its approach.  The bell did not send its exuberant clangor echoing through the warm tropical air, nor were smiles and laughter the order of the day.  White coated attendants stood at the end of the dock where smiling maidens in gaily patterned sarongs usually waited to greet new visitors.  The pilot had radioed them with the grim news as soon as the plane had lifted off.  

All the denizens of Fantasy Island were on hand to greet a fallen hero.

"Such a waste," Tattoo sighed in his heavily accented English.  He looked up at the two men on either side of him, a forlorn look on his round face.  "Why did he have to die, Boss?"

"That is the real tragedy," Mr. Roarke murmured, heaving a sigh of his own.  "There was no need of this.  Of _any_ of this."  He glared over at Bowler Hat.  "If Mr. Hobson's fantasy had been allowed to play out as he had wished, all would have returned home, alive and content."

"Don't stamp 'paid' on this account yet, old boy," was Bowler Hat's laconic reply.  "The yanks have some silly motto referring to the opera."

"It's not over until the fat lady sings?" Tattoo offered.

"Quite," the Briton acknowledged, giving the tiny man a indulgent smile.  He turned his piercing gaze on Mr. Roarke.  "Now that Kathleen and her master are out of the picture for a while, other options are open to us."

"Such as?" Mr. Roarke asked archly.  He was not eager to forgive his 'client' for what he saw as the needless suffering inflicted upon an innocent man.

"That will depend on a couple of things," Bowler Hat replied mysteriously.  "Mrs. Brown's reaction to losing her friend, and how stubborn our Mr. Hobson is."

If he was hoping for a reaction, he got one.  Tattoo stared up at him with his mouth hanging open in a look of bewilderment.  Mr. Roarke glared at him, not finding any humor in their current situation at all.

"I think you will find that the dead can be _most_ stubborn!" he hissed angrily. 

"Then I shall have to be at my most charming, shan't I," the Briton grinned, not to be deterred.  He turned to watch as the seaplane was tied up to the dock.

Marissa was helped from the plane, followed by William.  The white-coated attendants quickly boarded, unloading the shrouded stretcher under Dr. Tanaka's supervision.  Not that he was really needed, but he felt loathe to leave his patient unattended, even in death.

It was Mr. Roarke himself who assisted Marissa down from the plane, taking her hand in both of his.

"I am so terribly sorry," he told her, his face mirroring his sentiments.  "To lose someone in this manner is tragic enough.  For it to be a man of such caliber . . ."

"Thank you, Mr. Roarke," Marissa replied in a numb voice.  "I . . . I need to use your phone.  There are . . . a-arrangements that have to be made.  His . . . his parents!  Oh, God!  I have to let Lois and Bernie know . . ." 

"There will be time enough for that as soon as you and Dr. Griner have had a chance to refresh yourselves," their host assured her.  "Hot showers and a light repast are being prepared as we speak.  Come. Allow me show you to your cabins."

"That's most kind of you," William nodded politely, taking Marissa by the arm.  "I think we need to compose ourselves before we make those calls.  Don't you, Marissa?"

"I suppose you're right," the young woman sighed dismally.  "I-I have to call my lawyer, too."

"Your lawyer?" Mr. Roarke queried, confused.  "Ah!  His will!  They will need time to . . ."

"I have to arrange my divorce," she interrupted him in a choked whisper.

A stunned silence greeted this announcement.  Marissa looked up to see all eyes focused on her, even William's sightless gaze.

"Divorce!" the blind therapist exclaimed.  "Why?  That won't bring Gary back."

"No," Marissa replied with a shake of her head, "but one thing I've learned from all of this is that no one can deal with the duties of the Paper and keep a family together, too.  We kept pushing Gary to live his life, not realizing that he was doing the best he could, that all the pressure we put him under to start a family was just distracting him from what he had to do.  He was trying to come to terms with everything and we just kept on keeping on!  Gary knew what he was talking about when he said the Paper didn't want him to find happiness!  Not in that way, at least.  If I'm going to take over his responsibilities, then I can't tie myself down with a family."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_"Has she lost her mind?"_

Andrew watched his charge with a sad smile.  Marissa's revelation had shaken Gary to the core of his soul.  Stunned, the recently deceased man reached out to touch his friend, whether to offer comfort or shake some sense into her, Andrew was not sure.  Regardless, Gary's attempt to connect with his companion, his friend, came to naught.  Frustrated, Gary grabbed for her arm again, only to have his hand pass right through her.  Marissa's only reaction was a slight shiver as she absently rubbed her arm.

"She can't do that!" Gary exclaimed, still trying to get her attention.  "Marissa, no!  I know what you said, back there in the cave . . . b-but I thought that was . . . was just to make me hang on!  You weren't serious!  Were you?"

"I'm afraid she was quite serious," a richly cultured voice replied.

The phrase 'cosmic whiplash' flitted through Gary's mind as he spun to face the new factor in this bizarre game.  He was having a hard time getting his thoughts to focus on anything other than stopping Marissa from making the biggest, most tragic mistake of her life.  His eyes widened as he recognized the mysterious man from 'the office that wasn't there.'  He clearly recalled the elegantly engraved 'invitation' which led him to this nameless man and his obliquely phrased questions about the 'special subscription' that Gary received each morning.

"Y-y-you!" Gary exclaimed, jabbing a finger in the air, inches from that dark-suited chest.  "You're him!  Th-the guy with the hat and all those dumb questions!  A-a-and, um, pictures!  You had all those other pictures on the wall a-and then you didn't 'cause I went back and you weren't there, b-but these people in those dumb hats were following me and making notes and Joey Clams ended up in Dayton with this pooch and just who the hell _are_ you?"

Even Bowler Hat had to blink as that rush of words washed over him, leaving him uncertain if Gary was chewing him out, asking a question, or both.

"As you have surmised," he murmured calmly, "I am an agent for the, um, organization which ensures delivery of your 'special subscription.'  My purpose at this moment is to guarantee uninterrupted service.  It's all well and good that you have people willing to take up the slack whenever you are . . . indisposed, as it were.  But when you are so inconsiderate as to die before your appointed time, well, that puts us in a bit of a bind, you see.  Your replacement is far too young to take over at this point so we must make do with a volunteer.  Not to worry, however.  We shan't employ your friend for more than a decade or so."

"A _decade_!" Gary shrieked.  He continued, not letting the others get a word in edgewise as he paced restlessly, punctuating each phrase with abrupt, expressive gestures.  "A decade?  What about her marriage?  What about babies?  She wants babies of her own, and a family!  You can't expect her to just . . . just put her life on hold until Lindsay Romick is old enough to take over!  And what happens to Marissa then?  Does she have to die, too?  Can Lindsay get the Paper while Marissa is still alive?  I didn't think so," Gary fumed as Bowler Hat sadly shook his head.  "You can't do this to her!  _I_ _won't **let** you__do this to her!_  Y-y-y-you-you do whatever it is you have to do, wave some magic wand or whatever, and you _fix_ this!"

Bowler Hat looked at Andrew with a raised eyebrow.  This was going to be much easier than he had planned.  They weren't going to have to convince Gary to take his life back.  He was demanding it!****

"I'm afraid that . . ."

"I don't care!" Gary snapped.  "You guys dumped this business in my lap without one word of warning!  You didn't just disrupt my life, you turned it upside down, inside out and sideways!  It took me awhile, but I learned to deal with that a-and I'm perfectly fine with the fact that I'll never have the kind of life I used to dream about, just _fine_.  At least I was free to make that choice, at first.  But Marissa!  She's doing this out of some misguided sense of guilt and _this wasn't her fault!_  None of this!  She didn't ask for that fantasy, and she certainly didn't ask to have Kathleen screw it up and mess with her mind that way!  A-and it wasn't her idea for me t-to go running off and falling down that cliff o-or any of the other stuff that happened!  I'm not gonna let her punish herself like this!  _I'm not!_"

"And how do you propose to stop her?" Bowler Hat murmured.  "You seem to have contracted a slight case of death."

That stopped him.  Gary rocked on the balls of his feet as he gave the dapperly dressed man a stricken look.  It was true.  His lifeless form was even now being loaded into a hearse as Marissa explained her plans to Mr. Roarke and William.  How could he help her, now?

"You . . . you guys play with time like a crossword puzzle," he stammered, grasping for a solution.  "I've been to the Great Chicago Fire, The St Valentine's Day Massacre, and the Kennedy assassination.  Wh-what's a few days, huh?"

"It's a little more complex than that, Gary," Andrew said with that gentle smile he usually wore.  "You'd have to stay back, this time, and relive everything.  I told you before that you _might_ be allowed to recall everything up until the moment of your death.  Once a turning point is reached, however, those memories would begin to fade.  Soon, they would be little more than a shared dream, more vivid for you than for the others.  But, if you repeat the decisions that led to your death . . ."

"I get the picture," Gary sighed.  He looked at the man in the bowler hat, his expression a pathetic mixture of hope and pleading.  "Can you do it?  _Will_ you do it?"

 "I'm tempted to drag this out and see just what you'd be willing to offer in return," Bowler Hat murmured.

"You already have my life," Gary pointed out.  "And my soul isn't worth a damn if I let my best friend give up _her_ life.  I don't have anything left to give."

A flicker of compassion crossed that stoic countenance as Bowler Hat contemplated the truth of Gary's words.  Service to the Paper required more sacrifice than most were willing to give yet, once he had truly accepted the burden, Gary Hobson had devoted more of himself than any of his peers or predecessors.  Truth be told, this was not the first time he had sacrificed his life.  It was one of the things that made his situation . . . unique, which allowed for a great deal more leeway than might be given to other 'subscribers.'

"You're right, of course," Bowler Hat replied softly.  He stretched his hand out to the distraught man.  "Give me your hand and close your eyes."

Hesitantly, Gary did as he was told.  Placing his right hand on that outstretched palm, he shivered at the coolness of it.  It made him wonder if this strange man was truly . . . human.  Closing his eyes, Gary tried to prepare himself for the whirling vortex he dimly recalled from an earlier 'trip.'

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The first thing he was aware of was the darkness.  It was not the same intensity of dark that he had so recently endured, but more along the line of not having opened his eyes.  Next came the feeling that he was lying on something hard, cold, and rough.  As he gradually returned to his senses, Gary found that he ached everywhere, like when he had been hit by that car several years before.

While he was still trying to decide if moving was a good idea, Gary felt something cold and wet against his cheek, accompanied by snuffling noises.  Without further warning, something warm, rough, and definitely icky raked his face from chin to forehead.

"Eeww!" Gary groaned, wiping at his face with one hand.  It came away wet.  Finally managing to pry one eye open, he found himself looking into a pair of moist, soulful brown eyes set in a broad, hairy face.  Shaggy hair brushed against him as the affectionate bovine moved in for another kiss.

"Aw, gross!" Gary protested, trying to push the wooly creature away.  He felt as if he were covered in yak slobber!

"Are you okay, Mister?" an anxious voice asked.  "Maybe you'd better lie still until the EMTs get here."

"'M okay," Gary mumbled, still trying to dissuade the amorous yak.  He looked up to see a tall, gray-haired man kneeling over him.  Then it all came rushing back.  The escaped yak, a delivery van and . . .  "Wha . . . oh, yeah.  Um, a-are _you_ okay?"

"Me?" the driver of the van snorted.  "I'm not the one who jumped out into the middle of the road, waving his arms like a maniac, and got clipped by a loose door!  What the hell were you thinkin', Mack?"

"That it's time to get my head examined," Gary sighed as he pushed himself to a sitting position.  "Again.  Would you _please_ get out of my face?" he added, giving the yak another shove.  

"Animal control is on their way to get that beast," the driver assured him.  "I really think you should lie still.  You could have one of those concussion thingies.  Or a hematomato, even."

"What I've got is a headache," Gary reluctantly admitted.  He looked up into the worried face of his self-appointed watchdog.  "Was I out long?"

"Just a couple of minutes," the guy shrugged.  "But you were really out of it!  And you're gonna have a real goose egg, from the looks of it."  He gently tilted Gary's chin so that he could get a better look at the lump forming over his patient's left eye.  "Man!  That door musta slammed right into you!"

The ambulance chose just that moment to make its appearance and Gary quickly found himself on the receiving end of more professional inquiries.

"Any dizziness, nausea, or _what the hell is this on your face?"_ the first medic to reach him asked with a look of disgust.  He had started to check Gary's pupils, only to encounter a sticky blob of yak saliva on his patient's forehead.  It was dripping down from his hair.  "Oh, that is _gross!_"

"That's pretty much what I said," Gary mumbled.  "To answer your questions: yes, a little dizzy at first, no nausea until I got a face full of yak breath, and that gunk is yak drool.  I think the beast was saying 'thank you', or 'kiss off.'  I'm not sure which."

The beast in question chose that moment to show her appreciation for his actions on her behalf.  Shouldering the two paramedics aside, she leaned in to give Gary another slobbery 'kiss.'  

_Flash!_

Gary looked up as he tried to disengage the affectionate animal to see a familiar face grinning at him from over the top of a camera; a camera that he had once paid eight hundred dollars to get out of hock.  Miguel Diaz raised the viewfinder to his eye and took several more shots in rapid succession.

"Aw, c'mon, Diaz!" Gary pleaded.  "You wouldn't!  Would you?"

"I can see the headline now," the swarthy photojournalist replied with a beatific smile.  He raised his head as if reading from a marquee.  "Dr. Doolittle lives!  Grateful 'patient' showers him with affection!"

"Film at eleven," the paramedic laughed.  Taking a pack of gauze and a bottle of sterile water from his partner, he proceeded to clean Gary's face, taking extra care around the swelling on his forehead.  As he did so, the other medic set about getting their reluctant patient's vital signs.  "You need to get this looked at by a doctor," the senior medic murmured, his expression serious.  "They'll at least need an x-ray to rule out a skull fracture."

"Great," Gary sighed.  "I can say hello to Polly while I'm there.  I'm sure she'll love to hear all about this."

"It'll definitely make her day," the medic grinned.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

By the time Animal Control arrived, the medics had just finished their assessment and received orders to transport.  While Gary was happy to finally be free of his bovine admirer, he was relieved to know the shaggy beast was on her way back to the zoo.  

Lee, the senior medic, took pity on Gary and helped him clean off the bulk of the slimy drool.  It took more than one bottle of water to get that mess out of his hair, and Gary felt he would be spending a lot of time in the shower before he really felt clean again.  

Dr. Carter was on duty and almost bit through his lip trying to keep a straight face as he conducted his examination.  After completing the exam and ordering labs and a CT scan, the young resident excused himself.  Seconds later, Gary could hear his laughter echoing throughout the hallways.

It was a disgruntled Gary who lay back, awaiting his trip to x-ray.  This was not exactly how he recalled the incident from before, although it was disgustingly close.  Miguel had not been there that first time and no embarrassing pictures had been taken.  Hadn't that guy, Andrew, told him that his memories would be intact?  Yet Gary could already sense that his memories of . . . something were beginning to fade.  Had he reached the point they (?) had spoken of, the point where he had to make different choices or be doomed to repeat the events that led to . . . something bad?  Absently, trying to distract his mind from the random images that only led to more confusion, he pulled the Paper from inside his jacket and started to open it to the page that had previously held the yak story.  

There, on the front page, just as Miguel had promised, was a color photo of Gary receiving his 'reward' from the grateful yak.  Making a face to match the one captured in the picture, Gary paused to skim over the article, pleased to note that . . . 'Caroline'?  Who would name a _yak_, of all things 'Caroline'?  Anyway, the hairy beast had been returned to the privately owned petting zoo from which it had escaped, no worse for her adventure.  Gingerly shaking his head, Gary turned to page fourteen, where the story had originally appeared.

There it was.

_'Have you ever had a dream fulfilled?'_ it read._  'Do you believe that wishes **can** come true? Have you faith so strong that the lame can walk and the blind can see?  Then come to a land of mystery and enchantment, where all things are possible, even the **im**possible.  Come to Fantasy Island, where all your dreams can come true.'_

Gary felt a chill run up and down his spine as all the jumbled images clicked into place.  The Island, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo, his fantasy, and . . . Kathleen.  He slowly sat up, staring at that harmless seeming ad with a sense of foreboding.  He still wanted Marissa to see, still wanted . . . needed to give her a gift to honor their bond of friendship that would express how deeply he valued it.  Was this still the way he wanted to do it?  What if he worded his request differently?  And should he tell Marissa before he made his plans, or surprise her with them?  Perhaps he should talk it over with William first, which raised the question of telling William about the Paper.  In that other time, the blind therapist had been thrown by the revelation, but had quickly recovered and asked only if others had seen it.  Would such still be the case?  

Gary's mind was still a muddle of indecision by the time the orderly came to wheel him to radiology.  There would be time enough to settle this, he finally told himself.  'First I have to get out of the hospital.'

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Gary returned to McGinty's later that evening with a clean bill of health, and a slight headache.  He also carried the unmistakable aroma of 'eau de yak.'  He gave Marissa a cursory greeting as he rushed for his loft, halting in his tracks when he spotted Dr. William Griner sitting at the bar.

"Doc!" he exclaimed, delighted and a little puzzled.  This had _definitely_ not happened the first time around!  "It's . . . it's good to see you!  Um, wh-what brings you to my humble establishment?" Gary asked, smiling proudly at his quick recovery.

"I needed to talk . . . what is that _smell?_" the therapist asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Gary, have you been crawling through the sewers again?" Marissa asked, making her way over to them.

"No, I haven't been . . . um, Marissa Brown, this is Dr. William Griner," Gary quickly introduced his two friends, hoping to change the subject.  "He's the therapist that Dr. Zimmerman sent me to wh-when I hurt my back.  We, um, he's been helping me with a few other issues, too."

"Really!" Marissa beamed, extending her hand. "I was a Psych major in college," she told him.  

Gary quickly brought their hands together and stepped away, intending to continue his quest for a hot shower.  

"Well, you two should have a lot to talk about so I'll just . . ."  He stopped again, wincing as William grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.  He could almost hear that shower calling his name.

"I really need to talk to _you_, too," William murmured.  He released Gary's arm, making a face and wiping his hand on the bar towel Marissa handed him.  "But it can wait a few minutes.  Go get your shower."__

Gary needed no further encouragement.  

A much refreshed and more relaxed Gary Hobson sat with his therapist and best friend in his office an hour later.  William and Marissa had already discovered and reminisced about their mutual past by that time, and had managed to catch each other up on more recent history. 

"I can't believe you've been back in the city all this time and you didn't look me up!" Marissa protested.

"Our young friend here has kept me hoppin'," William chuckled.  His face grew serious as he reached out to touch Gary's arm.  "This time, however, I'm hopin' _you_ can help _me_."

"I-in what way?" Gary asked nervously.  He had been busying himself with serving coffee for his two friends.  He waited as William took a sip from his cup and carefully set it back down.

"I'm not usually a big believer in what some would call the supernatural," the therapist told them candidly.  "Dreams are a window to our subconscious, if you believe the learned gentlemen of academia.  My mother believed that they could foretell the future, if we interpreted them correctly."

"Um, where exactly are we going with this?" Gary asked, noticing Marissa's startled look out of the corner of his eye.  "Are you asking me to interpret a dream you had?"

"No," William replied with a shake of his head.  "I'm asking you to be careful.  Last night, I dreamed that you, Marissa, and I were on this tropical island.  Please recall that I had no clue that Marissa still lived in Chicago, let alone that you two were such close friends.  To confuse matters even further, _you_ were blind and _she_ could see."

Marissa almost dropped her cup when she heard this, setting it down with a clatter.

"Oh, my lord," she whispered.  "I had the same dream!  That's why I felt this . . . this shiver when Gary introduced us.  I-I already knew who you were a-and that you were his therapist and . . . you're cousins!  On your mother's side.  One of the Chandler twins settled in North Carolina or something like that!"  She frowned as the rest of it escaped her.  "Blast!  There was something about a room with a clock over every door, but I just can't remember any more than that."

Gary tried to keep a firm grip on his reactions, knowing that Marissa, in spite of her sightless condition, could read him like a book.  A shared dream, Andrew had said, only some would recall more details than others.  

"Did, um, did we have a good time on this island paradise?" he chuckled nervously.  

"You . . ." William paused, his brow wrinkling in confusion.  "Something really bad happened to you, Gary.  I can't seem to grasp the details, now, but I think you were in a great deal of pain.  And you told me some bizarre story about . . . a newspaper?" he added uncertainly.  "Yes!  Tomorrow's paper, today!  That's how you keep getting into all these strange and dangerous situations!"

"And today certainly qualified as strange," Marissa chuckled, recalling the story Gary had told them about the yak.  "Did you get her number?"

"No, I didn't . . ."  Gary's voice trailed off as he shot his friend a disgruntled look before turning back to his therapist.  "That . . . that's something I'd been meaning to bring up in our sessions.  The Paper, I mean."

William turned his astonished visage toward Gary.

"You mean it's true?"

"Um . . . yeah."

"Oh, son, we need to have a _looong_ talk!  Not that I don't believe you!" William hastened to add.  "I just need to get a better handle on this.  For the longest time, I was working under a false premise, that you had some sort of 'hero complex.'  By that, I mean that you went out looking for people to save from imagined dangers.  Having some type of . . . foreknowledge changes the whole picture."

"You thought I was crazy?" Gary asked, bristling at the news.

"Not for a minute," William assured him.  "Just troubled.  You have always seemed to have a lot on your mind, with ample justification for an impending nervous breakdown.  Yet, at the same time, you were always very much aware of the reality of your situation.  You, my young friend, are a jumbled mass of contradictions.  I might have to write a paper on you someday; to be published posthumously, of course."

The three friends spent the next hour discussing the dreams, to which Gary never once offered his own experiences.  It was enough, for him, that the three of them had been drawn closer together.  Now, if only he could figure out what to do for that upcoming anniversary!

The impromptu meeting broke up when William's receptionist returned to take him home.  As he arose to leave, he heard Marissa shift in her seat, probably turning toward Gary.

"By the way, Gary," she murmured softly.  "I've been meaning to ask you something.  Who's Geran?"

William chuckled as he pictured Gary looking like a deer trapped in the headlights.  As he headed for the door, he said, "You're on your own with this one, son,"

Gary squirmed under Marissa's sightless gaze.  Even though he knew that she could not really see his face, the young barkeep could not shake the idea that Marissa was staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"You can't repeat what I'm about to tell you," Gary told his friend.  "Not to anyone.  Even Mom and Dad don't know about this.  It's absolutely _vital_ that know one else knows about this.  I-I mean, well, Jake knows, but he found out by accident.  S-so I have to have your solemn word . . ."

"I swear, Gary," Marissa promised him.  "On the Bible, the Torah, or any other religious text you can name.  Now, give!  Who's Geran?"

"W-well, um, do you remember us . . . Mom and me, telling you about . . . about what happened last month?" he stammered.  "When I was shot, I mean."

"At that train station near Washington, D.C." Marissa nodded.  "You saved Vice President Hoyne, his family and half the Cabinet, from what Lois said."

"Yeah," Gary sighed as he shifted uncomfortably.  "Well, sh-she, um, she forgot to mention the Press Corp."

Gary could almost see the pieces fall in place in her mind.  He watched Marissa's face as she sat back in her chair, her lips forming an 'O' of understanding.

"Meredith Carson works for the Washington Post, now, doesn't she?" the blind woman murmured.

"She's, um, she's Meredith Chisholm, now," Gary shrugged, suddenly finding something fascinating about his hands.  "She . . . she was on the train a-along with . . . with her little boy.  C-cute kid, a-about six.  He, um, he doesn't look anything like his dad, but h-he does look a lot . . . a lot like his . . . his father."

Marissa was nothing if not astute.  Tears welled in her eyes, as if she could feel the pain that gripped her friend's heart.  Instinctively, she reached out to take both of his hands in hers, freely offering her support without recriminations or reproach.

"Oh, Gary . . ."

"Th-the only time I really saw him." Gary stammered, "was . . . it was right after I was shot, and he looked . . . he looked so scared, Marissa.  There was this little kid, staring at me a-and . . . and then she was turning him away and all I could see were those eyes, staring at me."

"He's your son?" Marissa whispered in a choked voice, reaching one hand up to cup his cheek in a comforting gesture, not surprised to feel moisture.  "Your little boy?"

"They were _my_ eyes," he whispered, as if she hadn't spoken.  "My son  . . . my son looks just like me.  H-he even has my eyes."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

By the time Gary had brought Marissa up to date on the subject of Geran, Meredith, and the full events of his recent excursion to the nation's Capitol, it was getting late.  He wearily trudged up the stairs to his loft, feeling physically and emotionally drained, and planning nothing more exciting than to crawl in bed.

There was still the matter of a suitable gift.  What could he give Marissa that could possibly mean as much to her as her friendship did to him?  In spite of all that had happened, Gary's mind kept returning to that damnable ad.  If he actually went to the island, would events unfold as they did before, or could he change things simply by rephrasing his request?  It wasn't the matter of his safety that caused him such turmoil, but what his death would do to Marissa.  He did _not_ want her sacrificing her future in a useless gesture of atonement!

The cat looked up from its place on the bed as Gary entered the loft.  Sinking onto the bed with a sigh, Gary reached out and gathered the orange feline in his arms.

"What do you think, buddy?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.  "Should I make the call?  Maybe this Mr. Roarke can fix it so things don't happen the same way.  Or maybe he can at least give me some advice.  Hmm?   Do you think he can steer me onto a better idea?"

The cat's only answer was to butt Gary's chin with his head and let out a low moan.

"That's the ticket, then," Gary decided.  "I'll call and explain my problem and see what he has to say.  After all, a guy like that must run into weird stuff like this every day."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

An hour later, and half the world away, Mr. Roarke set his phone back in its cradle.  Turning to face his guest, his careworn face broke into a relieved grin.

"Just as you predicted," the mysterious caretaker of dreams nodded.  "His desire for an appropriate gift _almost_ outweighed his caution."

"One of the attributes that make him so special," Bowler Hat murmured with a smug look, "is his infinite capacity for love.  There was never the slightest doubt in my mind that he would risk all in his quest.  We simply had to make him put things into perspective.  What good would it do to grant her the gift of sight if it took away her dreams for the future?  I really think that all will be much happier with our solution."

Mr. Roarke looked down at the jewel-encrusted pendant lying in a velvet-lined box on his desk.  It was a filigreed heart of antique gold surrounding a down-turned triangle inset with precious and semi-precious stones.  The entire pendant could easily fit in the palm of her hand and was striking in its simplicity and elegance.  The chain to which it was attached was as delicate in construct as the jewel.  A pair of matching earrings completed the set.  Once the jewelry was properly prepared, it would make the perfect gift.

"Yes," Mr. Roarke murmured, looking up at his guest with a satisfied smile.  "I do believe that he will be _quite_ happy."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

One week later . . .

Gary nervously paced the narrow confines of his office, alternately looking from his watch to the clock on the wall.  He was sure both of them had to be wrong.  It had to be later than that!  Where was that deliveryman?  Didn't he know how important tonight was?  Wasn't he told how vital it was that Gary have that package before five o'clock?  He needed time to get his shower, get dressed, and stop by the florist.  He had already confirmed their dinner reservations at the very same restaurant where they had eaten on that night eight years before.  Everything was in place.  Now, if that blasted . . .

A knock on the door almost gave Gary a heart attack!  Practically leaping across his desk, he snatched the door open to reveal Robin with a slender package in her hand.

"This came by messenger a couple of hours ago," the brown-haired waitress apologized.  "We were so busy; I just signed for it and stuck it in my pocket.  I didn't remember until I went to take off my apron just now.  I hope I didn't mess up any plans you had made."

Gary was only half listening as he gently took the package from her hand and turned to lay it on his desk.  His hands were shaking so much, he was afraid that he would drop it.  Wiping the sweat from his palms, he mumbled half-hearted assurances to the young woman as he removed the plain brown wrapping paper, to reveal an ornate, antique leather jewelry case.  Gingerly, he pried open the lid and looked inside.

"Oh!" Robin gasped, catching sight of the contents.  "Oh, Gary, it's beautiful!  Who's the lucky girl?"

"It's not what you think," Gary murmured distractedly.  "Tonight's a sort of . . . of special night for me and Marissa.  It's . . . well, this is . . . is to let her know how . . . D-do you think she'll like it?"

"Of course, she will!" Robin sighed, eying the gift enviously.  "It's very richly textured as well as colorful.  May I?" she asked, reaching for the box.

Gary quickly closed the case with an apologetic smile.  He had been warned that the recipient of the gift must be the first to touch it.

"Let Marissa show it to you later," he suggested.  "She'll want you to describe it to her in detail, I'm sure."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Very little about the restaurant had changed in the past eight years, Gary noticed.  The lighting was still tastefully subdued, the waiters friendly and proficient, and the food excellent.  Only the status of the two diners had changed.  This time, Gary was free and single, while Marissa was happily married.  This ironic twist was not lost on the young couple.

"I can't believe you remember the exact date and time of that dinner," Marissa chuckled as their desert dishes were being cleared.  "I thought only women were that . . . focused."

"Oh, I remember a lot of things," Gary teased.  "For instance, you thinking I was trying to proposition you."

"How could either of us forget that," the young African-American woman laughed.  "I thought you were gonna choke!"

"I almost did!" Gary's voice turned serious as he slowly removed the box from his jacket pocket.  "Marissa, we've been through a lot since that night.  We've faced life . . . and death together, as a team.  Oh, I know we've had our differences, but we never let them get in the way of what really mattered: our friendship.  I've spent the last few weeks searching for some way to . . . to let you know just how much I've treasured your faith and support a-and this is the best I could come up with," he added, sliding the box under her hand.  "I hope you like it."

Marissa didn't know what to say.  This whole evening had been such a pleasant surprise.  Gary had gone all out, picking her up in a limousine, a bouquet of fresh cut flowers in hand, and now this.  Gingerly, she ran her hand over the box, tracing a manicured nail over the embossed designs.  It felt like some sort of landscape, with birds, perhaps . . . or . . .

"It's a seascape with . . . with dolphins dancing and leaping all over the place," Gary told her.  

"It's beautiful," Marissa murmured, entranced by the mental imagery.

"Open it."

Marissa ran her hands over the sides until Gary guided her to the hinged catch.  She raised the lid carefully and reached inside, her fingertips gently brushing the filigreed pendant.  Her eyes flew open in shock as images began to crystallize in her mind.  First was a cleanly chiseled face with warm brown eyes and a dazzling smile.  Love shone from those mahogany features, love for her. 

"Emmett," she whispered, sure of his identity.  Clutching the pendant in her hand, Marissa tried to call up other faces.  One by one, she saw the faces of her mother, her long dead father, aunts, uncles, her sister, so many faces that she had never seen, or could not remember seeing, yet she knew them all.

The last image to join this cavalcade of love was the face that belonged to the hands now fastening the miraculous jewel around her throat.  Reaching up, she caressed the face that she had once said looked 'like apple pie.'  She could feel the warmth of his smile, and she could see it, if only in her mind.

"Oh, Gary," she whispered.  "This is . . . I don't . . ."

"Happy anniversary, Marissa," Gary murmured softly.  He felt no need to tell her of the full extent of his gift.  Let her find out in eighteen years, when his time came to join his predecessors.

In the meantime, they had the rest of their lives to look forward to.  Gary had no doubts that they would hit many rough spots, pitfalls, and dangers.  There would be times that his life, his very soul would be on the line.  As long as he had Marissa in his corner, keeping him warm with the strength of her faith and love, he had no doubts that he would eventually prevail.

"Happy anniversary," he repeated, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek.  "And thank you so much, for being my friend."

The End

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**


End file.
